


take two and hit to right

by gottalovev



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baseball Player Derek Hale, Closeted Character, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/pseuds/gottalovev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles enjoys ogling the very handsome shortstop of the varsity team while in class. One day, when he cannot have the seat he prefers to watch the baseball diamond, he starts a conversation on his desk (including cartoon characters and eventually sharing secrets).</p><p>Unfortunately, Stiles' first meeting with the hot shortstop - crowd darling Derek Hale - doesn't go well. When Hale turns out to be Stiles' desk pen pal, will they be able to move past first impressions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	take two and hit to right

**Author's Note:**

> made for the Teen Wolf Big Bang! This one has been a long time coming.
> 
> Art by dreammaidenn can be seen [here on LJ](http://dreammaidenn.livejournal.com/10442.html). It's fantastic! it has a fanmix too! YAY! Go see and tell her she's awesome =D
> 
> Concerning the tags: as a FYI, the homophobia - a slur, some laughing - doesn't come from the main characters, just a peripheral jerk. It's shitty anyway, and badly received, so I warn.
> 
> There are also a couple of instances of underage drinking (Stiles is 19).

Stiles is pissed that someone stole his seat by the window, _again_. Everyone knows that if you've taken the same seat three consecutive times at the start of a semester, that seat is now yours. It's not notarized or anything, but it's a definite college convention if there is one. Stiles came in late the day before, true, because he had stopped for coffee (he knew he could not get through the class without caffeine, especially not on a Monday). When he'd finally gotten to his 'Introduction to Biological Statistics' class, some asshole had taken his favorite seat. Since he was slightly late, Stiles hadn't argued the point. Maybe the seat snatcher had waited until the bell to make a move, and now Stiles couldn't ask him to vacate. It is a quality spot, after all, in the middle of the rows and with a great view of the baseball diamond. But today Stiles is on time, a good ten minutes prior to the bell, and the same asshole is in his seat. Again. Stiles walks up to the guy and smiles.

"Hey, hi," he says.

The guy has short blondish hair and blue eyes; he's pretty, but it's also obvious that he knows it. Pretty boy looks at Stiles with a flagrant lack of interest.

"Yes?"

"I've been sitting here for weeks," Stiles says, tapping the desk with his nail. 

"And?" Blond guy asks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Well you're taking my seat, I'd like it back." If the guy was a bit more likeable, Stiles would have added a please, but somehow it doesn't get past his teeth.

The seat snatcher looks at the desk's surface, pushes his chair back to look under, and even slides forward to look at the front of it before sitting back. Stiles' pressure is rising at the obvious taunt.

"I don't see your name anywhere. Or any name at all, for that matter."

"Fine," Stiles grits out. "Thanks for nothing."

It's very, very tempting to punch the douchebag right in the face, but the asshole is unfortunately right. With a show of teeth that is noting like a smile, Stiles decides not to push the matter further. Fuming, he retreats to the seat he took the day before, on the other side of the class. It's mid-way up, too, but along the wall so no glorious view of the baseball field. He'll miss ogling the shortstop, who wears the uniform _beautifully_.

Stiles opens his books with more force than needed, and gets his favorite pen to offset this bad start. Who cares about douchebro and his perfectly practiced sneer? Stiles doesn’t need special placement to kick his ass in this class. No sir.

As the class goes on, it confirms Stiles' opinion that statistics are boring as fuck. Stiles doesn't like math in general, though it's a necessity to get his biomedical engineering degree. But Professor Murray? He would fail to make anything sound interesting. His voice is hypnotic, in a bad way, and Stiles is fighting against falling asleep in mere minutes.

Stiles glares at the seat snatcher douche who is not even looking out of the window at all, too busy texting. Ugh, what a waste. Hot Shortstop is probably prancing around right now, with his perfect figure, artful stubble and casual athleticism. Desperate to find something to stay awake, Stiles' eyes fall on the corner of the desk where he'd drawn the day before. His little baseball-playing mouse now has a catcher behind it, a ball in the glove. His own drawing, the mouse at bat, looks as if it completely missed the pitch. Stiles smiles, amused that someone had fun adding to the drawing. Whomever did it, they're pretty good with cartoon characters. There is no way to know if they'll see Stiles' reply, but he exaggerates his mouse's butt a little, draws arrows pointing to it, and writes 'strike zone'. It's funny to him, anyway.

Prof Murray says something about bias that sounds important (well it _was_ prefaced by 'this will be on the exam', so he has everyone's attention), and Stiles starts taking notes. 

**

Stiles has two different classes in the lecture room with the view of the baseball field. When he enters his 'Safety and Ethics for Research' class, he's happy to see that his window seat is free. He hurries to take it, thrilled to finally have it back. Immediately he checks outside, but little leaguers occupy the baseball field. Right, the varsity team doesn't practice on Thursday afternoons, generally because they have a game that night. It's a bummer, because Stiles hasn't seen Hot Shortstop for a week, and he might be experiencing withdrawal. Unless…

Stiles takes out his phone and texts Scott.

_hey, man, what about we go cheer for the home team tonight?_

The reply comes fast.

_you have tickets for the Angels? Cool!_

Stiles wishes he had, but no.

_No, I meant the Cyclones. Interested? Show some school spirit and all._

Scott is a lot less clueless than some people would presume.

_is this about the shortstop's butt again?_

Busted. Stiles sighs and decides to be honest, maybe he'll get points for it.

_Yeah. Haven't seen it in a while and it's a tragedy. So?_

Scott, bless his heart, replies almost immediately.

_I want on record that I'm the best friend ever, but sure. Why not._

Stiles fist pumps. 

_Awesome. Tks man!_

Class has started as they completed that important exchange, and Stiles takes out his markers. Unlike 'Introduction to Biological Statistics', the 'Safety and Ethics for Research' class is actually interesting, which is a plus. He engages with the teacher, gets a few people laughing in the process which is always fun, and before he knows it the class is over.

Stiles is about to leave the classroom when his eyes fall on the desk near the wall. Curious, he walks over to have a look. Indeed, the drawing has evolved. There's an exclamation point near 'strike zone', with 'I do admit it's a nice ass'. The arrows have been extended, though, and instead of pointing to the mouse's ass, they lead to a dotted rectangle area showing a real strike zone, wide as the plate and from shoulders to knee. On top, there's now a little umpire behind the catcher, making the 'you're out!' gesture. It makes Stiles laugh, but unfortunately there isn't time to add anything to the drawing since the students from the next period are getting in. He'll do it in the Stat class, in 4 days. Plus it gives him time to think about it.

***

The lights are on, the atmosphere is fun, and tight uniforms are the best thing that ever happened to sports. God bless baseball. Belly full of hotdogs and a beer that he paid a good price to the guy who deals cold ones to students under 21 years old near the sports shop, Stiles feels great. It's his first time at a Cyclones game and it probably won't be the last. From the top of his mind, he can list at least 3 good reasons why. Firstly, the view of Hot Shortstop's ass is even more glorious when seen from the stands than from a third story window. Secondly, Stiles now knows his name, Derek Hale, due to the program and all. Until now Stiles had kept in check his… investigator tendencies, but he doesn't make promises for later. Derek 'fine as hell' Hale must have a Facebook or something. If Stiles is lucky, it could be filled with shirtless jock pictures! Thirdly, Stiles is having a good time with his bro. It's been harder to keep up with Scott with the classes and schoolwork getting heavier. Scott has a really busy schedule, so it's fun to have him for a couple of hours.

"Stiles, I think you can tone it down with the binoculars," Scott is saying.

"Uh huh," Stiles replies. His lenses are focused on Hale, who's coming back to his team's dugout after the end of the inning. 

Stiles is sitting only three rows up from said dugout, and at the moment Hale is only 30 feet away and coming closer. It _is_ possible that the binoculars in this situation are maybe overkill. Hale even noticed him, because he darts a confused look his way. He is probably wondering who is that weirdo in the stands checking him out with binoculars at 20 feet now. Finally relenting, Stiles lowers the binoculars but keeps staring at Hale, grinning when they make awkward eye contact for a second. Derek is the first to look away, down to the ground as he steps down into the dugout, out of view.

"Jesus," Scott says. When Stiles looks at him, Scott has put both of his hands over his face. 

"What?" Stiles asks.

"You're the absolute worst. Way to look like a stalker!" Scott says.

Stiles makes a see-saw motion with his hand. "Eh, it wouldn't be entirely inaccurate."

Scott laughs, because he's the best. "How is it that you're becoming weirder with time?"

"Thanks," Stiles says with a wink. It's not a bad thing, in his opinion. "Besides, don't think I didn't notice your own focused staring."

As if on cue, Scott looks at the first batter of the inning for the Cyclones and he visibly perks up. 

"I don't know what you are talking about," Scott fronts, jabbing Stiles with an elbow.

Scott is in a serious relationship with Allison, but they sometimes invite a third party. Curly guy at bat is exactly their type.

"Number 4, Isaac Lahey," Stiles says, reading from the program. "Freshman, ohhh, medicine studies."

"Yeah, he's in my Histology class," Scott says. "Nice guy."

"Nice guy or _nice_ guy?" Stiles asks, teasing. "No, really, you know him?"

He's already seeing the pieces fall together: Scott makes friends with Lahey – or gets in his pants, same difference -, they are invited to wherever the team goes to hang out, Stiles accidentally bumps into Derek Hale…

"No, Stiles," Scott is saying. "I won't ask him to arrange for you to meet that shortstop."

Is he so obvious? Stiles pouts.

"I'm disappointed, bro," he says with a heavy sigh. "Crushed."

Lahey gets walked and smirks his way to first base. Stiles hasn't quite seen how it happened, because he was too busy watching Hale making practice swings. Jesus, the shoulder to waist radio is fantastic. And let's not talk about the biceps. 

When Hale is called up, Stiles whistles loudly. He's definitely not the only one doing so: it seems that his favorite shortstop is a crowd darling. Hale's first swing – that ends up a strike – is a thing of beauty, full of power and grace. 

"Do you need a napkin?" Scott asks.

Reflexively, Stiles wipes his mouth. Is there ketchup left from his last hot dog? His hand comes up clean though.

"What? Where? Did I get it?" 

Scott gives him a crumbled napkin. "For the drool."

"Ha ha," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "Shut up. He's perfect and you know it."

"I don't know. A bit muscular for my taste," Scott says, eyes drawn to first base. It's true that Lahey is more on the lanky side.

"To each their own," Stiles concedes. 

The next pitch is a fastball and Hale connects beautifully. The loud 'toc' is unmistakable and everyone, even the players in the backfield, only follow the ball with their eyes to see it go up and away over the fence. The whole crowd leaps up to their feet to cheer, including Stiles who whistles some more like crazy. Hale trots the bases, a small smile on his face. Stiles could swear that between second and third he looks his way. It's quick, though, and Hale soon focuses on touching the cushion, and shares an amicable fist bump with his third base coach. He continues to home plate where he's greeted with a high ten from Lahey, waiting for him with a huge grin.

"I have such great taste," Stiles tells Scott.

He takes a moment to envy the players and coaches casually butt-slapping Hale as he goes back to his bench. 

***

Luck has it that several hours later, Stiles – not aided by Scott and his 'friend' Isaac Lahey in any way – bumps into the one and only Derek Hale. The hero of the day finished the game with 3 RBI and several initiated double plays that saved the Cyclones' ass. Stiles is with Scott at a Luau party in one frat house or the other, and beer is flowing. Music is also very loud, and he might or might not have a contact high from the weed that's being smoked all over the place. The house is packed. Maybe too packed. Stiles stumbles out on the terrace in the back, looking for air. It seems that he found jock central, the porch full of guys in muscle shirts and backwards caps. 

More than a little drunk, Stiles bumps shoulders kind of hard with a guy who's trying to get back into the house. 

"Look where you're going, moron!" the guy says, face in a sneer. 

It takes a second or two but Stiles places that superior-looking pretty face.

"You!" he says, pointing. "Seat snatcher!"

It looks like the object of his ire doesn't even take him seriously enough to reply, going in the house. It's like he didn't even hear, or most probably doesn't give a shit. But who cares? Not Stiles, not right now.

Stiles swivels around and needs to catch the porch's railing to stay upright, since the ground is threatening to come meet his face. Fuck he's drunk. Once righted again, Stiles looks up to realize he's smack in the middle of a loose circle of aforementioned jocks. It's something he's experienced in high school, but that never ended well for him. He raises his hands in the air.

"Sorry, sorry, didn't want to interrupt!" he says, going for the stairs. 

There seems to be a gazebo or some sort of structure in the yard, and Stiles aims to go there to sit down and chill out. Maybe he'll try to get a hold of Scott, who disappeared with a pretty raven-haired girl earlier since Lahey doesn't appear to be present.

He's mostly keeping his eyes down and doing his thing when Stiles unfortunately stumbles and careens into another guy. It's similar to hitting a cement wall.

"Sorry!" Stiles says again. Looking up to apologize, he freezes, transfixed by the sublime beauty of his favorite shortstop.

"Oh," he says. "Derek fucking Hale." 

Said Derek Hale looks frozen as several of the other guys in the circle laugh.

Emboldened by the very high level of alcohol in his blood, Stiles raises a hand to pet Hale's stubble. His wrist is immediately caught in a vice grip, the guy's face completely blank.

"Seriously?" Someone behind Stiles exclaims. "Get fucking lost, fag."

There are a couple of mocking laughs and Hale lets go of Stiles' wrist like it's a red hot iron. Stiles would object to the homophobic remark and reaction if the embarrassment mixed with way too much to drink hadn't got him seconds away from puking.

"Right, right," he says, somehow managing to go down the stairs to the back yard. 

He's just reaching the gazebo when he bends down and is sick all over a flowering aloe plant. 

***

Stiles might not remember everything from the Luau party, but the embarrassment he felt on the back porch burns bright. It makes him feel queasy even days later.

He doesn't feel as if investing more time in daydreaming about a homophobic jock is worthwhile, no matter how pretty he is. So when Monday rolls around, Stiles isn't even tempted to take his window seat as he gets to class, even if it's free. He goes straight for the desk on the wall, ready to dazzle its occupants with his artistic prowess. After all, he's been practicing his doodles all morning, in his General Chemistry class. When seat-snatcher douche comes in, he does a double take when he sees Stiles already seated. He takes the desk by the window with a smile as if it's related to his previous intimidation routine. Stiles couldn't care less.

Thankfully, no one erased the baseball doodles on the desk. Stiles adds, beside the batter-catcher-umpire trio, a man with wild eyes and hair – the coach, obviously - shouting at the umpire. He draws spit going everywhere and wind milling arms. It's quite funny, if he says so himself. Nonetheless he's in a sour mood, so he writes, besides the growing work of art: "fact: jocks are assholes". He knows it's a broad strike, but it's his opinion and his experience. 

***

"Hey man," Scott says, bounding into their room. 

He has way too much energy. If the huge hangover he suffered on the weekend wasn't enough, Stiles now seems to be coming down with a cold. Tylenol didn't do shit, and certainly not the food he managed to keep down since he woke up with the mother of all headaches.

"Hey," Stiles replies, massaging his temples. 

"You look like shit," Scott says, grabbing a juice box from their mini-fridge. Yes, they have juice boxes, which are awesome.

"Thanks," Stiles says.

"I saw Isaac in Histology earlier," Scott continues, untouched by his sufferings. "He says there's another party tonight, ancient Greece theme."

Normally? That would sound fantastic. Stiles would rock a toga. But right the fuck now? Hell no. And he's all about embracing the party experience, but he deserves a couple of days of break. 

"I'll pass," Stiles says.

"He said the ball team should be there," Scott adds, wiggling his eyebrows. It would be cute in other circumstances.

"Yeah, well, I'm over those life choices," Stiles says, lying down on his bed and putting his pillow on his face. Not to suffocate, just to block the outside world for a bit.

"Really?" Scott says, surprised. "Okay, then."

"Have fun, Scotty."

He'll stew in his misery for a bit, stay hydrated for today, hopefully the headache will go away. He's not worried: he'll bounce right back to his fun self real soon.

**

Actually, Stiles takes the whole weekend off partying, which does him some good. His liver frankly loves him for it. Plus, he almost makes a dent in his sleeping deficit with a couple of 8 hours nights (it could have been more if there wasn't that time sucker that is the Internet). On the plus side, he also gets tons of school work done, going as far as visiting the library for the first time. For a second he even thought he'd seen Derek Hale between the book stacks, though that might be his overactive imagination. It was right when Scott came to get him for pizza, so Stiles didn't investigate – not that he particularly wanted to. He has experience getting rejected, but it stings every time nonetheless and he's not immune to the following awkwardness.

Stiles was eager to see how his coach drawing was received, but there had been nothing on the following Tuesday and Thursday. Stiles sure misses the back and forth, it was fun. Maybe the person changed desks or classes. On Monday, there is finally a response. Stiles grins when he sees a little "ok, that's awesome!!!! You win." pointing to his wind milling coach. There's just a bit added to the drawing itself: rough stands and two figures sitting in them. One is watching with binoculars, and the other is holding up a sign saying "K". Stiles would laugh if he didn't immediately flash to his binocular ogling of Hale on that infamous Thursday's game, that amuses him a lot less now than it had then. Most surprising, though, is what's written under his ""fact: jocks are assholes". 

_I was going to temperate with 'not all jocks', but I realized how embarrassing it would be ('not all men' makes my skin crawl). Plus, I think you're right. One day or another, everyone fucks up. I did, too, big time. Probably will again._

The tight handwriting takes part of the desk's corner, and frankly Stiles is baffled. Is his desk-defacing buddy a jock? Or a lady jock? For sure they seem self-aware, at least. And show promising feminism cred. Stiles is intrigued: what in the hell is that big fuck up? He adds a couple of people in the stands, too, eating hotdogs and drinking beer, but he focuses on the discussion.

_Jock(ette) yourself, then. Honesty time: what are you guilty of? Bullying? Using groupies? Academic shenanigans? Steroids? You know you want it off your chest. I'm listening._

***

On the desk, the "ette" from Jock(ette) has been struck out.

_I'm bi but I'm hiding it._

***

 _Afraid of teasing?_

***

_Afraid of tanking my chances at a potential career_

***

_That ~~sucks~~ \- ha- ~~blows~~ \- JFC, admit it's funny that I can't sympathizes without a somewhat gay pun. Coming out is personal. You shouldn't feel guilty about that. _

***

_Maybe a little funny. You're a funny guy. Girl? No, but I kept silent when I shouldn't have. I also rarely risk hook ups, even if I want it bad._

 

***

Stiles underlines guy.

_Dude, were you accessory to gay bashing? That's low. :(_

***

Stiles has come to look forward to his Statistics and Ethics classes, which has very little do to with the subject matter and a lot more with his ongoing conversation with Closeted Jock. It's been ongoing for 4 weeks now, if Stiles takes the drawing into account, and luckily no one is erasing their little exchange. Today Stiles found his question unanswered. It's not Closeted Jock's style, as he has always commented before, apart from the lag in the second week. 

There has been third party in the exchange lately, someone who drew a stick figure next to the convo and has it now eating popcorn. Stiles supposes it’s unavoidable that someone else would pick up that there was a discussion going on, and at least the way to make them know someone’s listening is funny. Today, little stick figure has a downturned mouth and a message 'I am severely disappointed in you, if that's true' written in loopy cursive by the last message. 

It's hard to know what to do. Yes, what Stiles said was accusing and without any proof, and maybe he insulted Closeted Jock who won't want to talk to him again. Or maybe Closeted Jock just missed a class, that's also possible. It's disappointing, though, because Stiles has become invested in the conversation. Not that he has any sympathy for jocks in general, but he can imagine how it would suck to be in an environment that looks down at gays so much that it can kill your dreams. The lack of answer grates, but what can he do? Instead of pressing his point, he feels like he has to temperate the new person. 

_Let's not be preemptively disappointed. I won't judge without more info._ He writes next to her/his message. 

The rest of the Ethics class is unusually boring as fuck. What is also annoying is that when the class ends, Allison isn't at the door as she was supposed to be with his General Chemistry lab report. He has nothing against helping a friend, especially his best friend's main girl. But they had a deal that she'd bring his lab report back right here in the hall since they cross paths as she goes into Biology and he goes to his Chemistry lab. Where he has to turn in his fucking lab report! Stiles takes deep breaths as the next class fills up the auditorium, eating the skin around his thumb. Allison is reliable; she's just a little bit late, that is all. She'll be there any second.

Stiles is checking his phone, hoping for a text, something, when his attention is caught by a very fine ass in thigh jeans going into the classroom. He looks up and sees that the fine ass is attached to a man with sinful shoulders filling a Henley just right. Whomever the guy is, he's going up the stairs as his friend calls after him from the door.

"Come on, we're going to be late for Coach's pre-game speech. You know that's a capital offence!"

"Just a sec! I missed Optical Electronics," the guy says. He has stopped at _Stiles'_ desk and his voices trails off as he reads the writing on the desk.

It doesn't take long for Stiles to connect the dots. _This guy_ is Closeted Jock. Who missed Optical Electronics apparently, which makes sense because the Cyclones were off to Riverside for an away game. 

Closeted Jock's head falls forward, seeming defeated. He probably just read Stiles' questions about gay bullying and judging by the body language, it looks dire. 

"Come on!" the teammate whispers-shouts. 

A girl who clearly takes this class is making eyes at Closeted Jock, who reacts by almost moonlighting out of her way. It is pretty hilarious, as moves go. When he turns around to come back down the stairs, Stiles finally has a good look at Closeted Jock's face. There is no mistaking that stubble and perfect face: it's the one and only Derek Hale. Stiles' mouth opens in shock for a second – and strangely Hale seems to be just as surprised. Astonishment quickly turns to anger; Stiles made up rants in his mind on what he wishes he'd said at the Luau party for weeks now. Hale visibly loses a bit of countenance and looks nervous. Stiles scowls and is about to get his wit back and say… something when papers are shoved in his face.

"Here, here, I have it, I am so sorry I didn't mean to be late!" Allison says. 

It's enough of a distraction that Stiles loses eye contact with Hale, but even more his train of thought.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Allison repeats and it gives Derek Hale the occasion to slip out before Stiles can give him a piece of his mind. His very fine ass is all but sprinting down the corridor with his friend now.

Stiles is tempted to run after him and demand what exactly happened at the Luau party. Is it possible that in his drunken state Stiles interpreted things wrong? No, no, he didn't, he's sure of that. Hale dropped his wrist as if he was a leper after some asshole called him a fag. Stiles knows he's no Adonis, certainly not in Hale's league, but he's not repulsive either. Maybe it's drunk people that Hale has in contempt, though. If so, maybe it wasn't the best impression to make. Whatever, though, Stiles has lost his opportunity to get thing clarified - at least for now - so he addresses Allison's huge tragic eyes.

"It's fine, don't worry," he says. 

Allison smiles, dimples showing. "It really helped me, I owe you one."

"Well, I've got to go turn it in. We'll see if you were right to come to me for this. See you tonight?"

"You bet," Allison says. "Oh and come to dinner, I'll make you a 'you saved my ass' lasagna."

Stiles makes a fist pump, because food is the best payment, and Allison is an _awesome_ cook. "Hell yes. I'll be there."

Right beside them the professor comes and pointedly closes the classes' door in their faces. It makes Stiles realize that he is, indeed, late.

"Got to go!" He tells Allison. "See you later!"

He then has to make a run for it. Stiles spends the rest of the day reeling at the fact that Closeted Jock is Derek Hale, and wonders what to do now.

***

Stiles hurries to the desk when he next has a class in that room.

Hale did write something.

_I panicked and reacted badly. I've replayed that night a million times and I did everything wrong. Now the guy hates my guts, not that I blame him._

Stiles wonders if it is conceited of him to be convinced it's about the Luau and his reaction earlier in the week? Confronting Hale and realizing it's not would be pretty mortifying. But here, on a desk? What does he have to lose?

 _Luau party?_ Stiles writes. He also adds an angry face because if he doesn't actually hate Hale's gut, but he's not his favorite person either.

He's going to die of nerves. Who thought that writing on a desk each class was a good means of communication? Carrier pigeons would be faster! Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes the anxiety out. He should have an answer tomorrow.

***

_Holy sh*t! It's you? F*ck. I foolishly hoped you had blacked it out. I am so, so, **so** sorry._

Stiles stares at the desk for 10 seconds, heart picking up. So it is about that night; he knew it. Stiles re-reads the convo and… he can't quite find the compassion to go easy on Hale on this. Yes, maybe Hale panicked and did everything wrong. And yes, it's endearing that he can't even write _shit_ or _fuck_ without an asterisk, and that there is emphasis, underlined AND bolded, on the apology. But intentions and thoughts are one thing, and actions speak a lot louder. Hale might be closeted for acceptable reasons, but the way he acted was very hurtful.

_I wasn't nearly drunk enough to forget the single most humiliating moment of my life, no. In fact, I wasn't even drunk enough to puke before it happened, so…_

Stiles knows that it's harsh and judging by their interactions on this very desk, Hale will probably feel really bad about it. But frankly, Stiles is using restraint. He doesn't actually curse or tell Hale to go to hell or to go fuck himself. All in all, he's downright mild, because if Stiles was actually telling this to the guy's face? He knows he'd use words to cut a lot deeper. He'd destroy the motherfucker. So his message is guilt inducing, yes, but in his opinion Hale deserves it. What will be interesting is how he reacts to it.

***

_:((((( I don't even have words. I am mortified and deeply sorry my actions were so hurtful. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I would like to formally apologize. Doing it in person would be better, but I don't know how to find you. (You do, though, if you are ever inclined to hear my surely awkward groveling). Again I'm sorry._

For the second time this week, Stiles is left staring at the desk. That’s one – seemingly – deeply felt apology and frankly Stiles is a little swayed. It's not in person, no, but it's still on this desk, spelled out. Obviously Hale is more than just a pretty face: he's got a nice way with words, too. And if the sentiments are true, with all that's been said on this desk, he also has a good heart. 

Stiles doesn't know how to reply, or if he even can. Maybe meeting in person _would_ be a good idea, if only for closure on this awkward situation. 

It's only after a couple of minutes of staring into space – not even a heated debate about moral imperatives can catch his attention – and reading the whole conversation from top to bottom at least 15 times that Stiles notices that their 'spectator' has commented on the drama.

 _what the ever loving fuck happened? It's killing me! oh my fucking God, this is better than a telenovella_ they have written. 

There's also a little _is he cute?_ asked in the margin and Hale, the blocky handwriting is unmistakable, has answered: 

_Gorgeous. Which is one of the reasons it all went to sh*t._

That is surprising. Either Hale is lying, or suddenly the situation is not as dire as it seems. He does appreciate the compliment, though. At this point Stiles figures he has nothing to lose in meeting Hale. Having a formal apology would be nice, and maybe the guy needs closure on this, too. Hopefully, he can learn from the whole mess.

Stiles takes out his phone and texts Scott.

_Tonight: you + me + those 3rd base line tickets?_

_Really? I thought you were over jocks in general._ Scott answers.

_Shush. I love baseball. So?_

Sure. Allison wants to go see Isaac play, so I was going anyway. 

And how's operation lure the curly-cutie coming? 

Great! :) I'll tell you later. 

You've got to give it to Scott and Allison, they have a very interesting relationship. Not that Stiles is into polyamory himself, but it makes for great stories. But the details of their love life aren't what Stiles is looking forward to the most. He's already nervous about meeting Hale and how _that_ is going to unfold.

**

They arrive at the ballpark late because Allison had to cover for a coworker at her father's armory. It's the third inning and the Cyclones are at bat when they make it to their seats, the same they had all those weeks ago, with an extra for Allison.

Stiles is extremely jittery, his heart racing in anticipation. He has no idea how Hale will react to seeing him in the stands – if he even does – and how they'll manage to eventually talk. At the moment the Cyclones have a runner on second base, who happens to be Hale. Stiles takes his seat, eyes glued to the man, while Scott and Allison sit on each side of him, distributing sodas and hot dogs. 

"What is Isaac's position?" Allison asks.

"Centerfield," Scott says. "He'll be out soon."

The Cyclones have two outs already, and the current hitter is two strikes deep. Hale is focused on the pitcher, but he's straying, making the other team nervous. On the next pitch, an outside fastball, the Highlanders' catcher tries to pin Hale at second base. Hale slides back in time, but the second baseman drops the ball that rolls towards right field. Seizing the occasion, Hale immediately leaps back up and runs to third on the error. Stiles is up on his feet with the crowd and he whistles along. Yes, Hale might have questionable interpersonal skills with drunk bi boys, but he's a hell of a baseball player. 

Once safe on the cushion, Hale requests a time out to dust himself off. He doesn't look pleased with himself, though. He's still focused on the game, which is hot as hell. Before he goes back to his base, Hale does a quick scan of the crowd around the team's dugout. Upon seeing Stiles - their eyes definitely meet - he breaks out in a smile. It's totally unexpected and so dazzling that Stiles' stomach fills with butterflies (the traitor). It's absolutely impossible not to smile back, a small thing but there. Stiles claps exaggeratedly, and Hale grins even wider before looking down at his feet. He's a little far away, but Stiles would swear Hale is blushing.

"You know him?" Allison asks. She looks very appreciative, with reason.

"Sort of," Stiles says.

He didn't tell Scott the details about the whole Luau incident, just that jocks had been assholes. And he didn't update his friends on Closeted Jock's identity, since he figured it was not his secret to tell, whatever had happened.

"I thought you were over that guy! You haven't talked about his ass for weeks," Scott says.

"It is a very nice ass, though," Allison says. Stiles fist-bumps her, because it's the truth. 

"Relapse," Stiles says. "He asked me to come, we need to talk."

"Really?" Scott says, beaming. "Awesome!"

Stiles cringes. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We need to settle something, but that might be it."

That smile, though. God. While they are talking, the batter strikes out and ends the inning. Walking towards his team's bench, Hale looks up at Stiles again and mouths "thank you". It is way too adorable. 

"What the hell happened between you two?" Scott asks. He's starting to look suspicious, and Stiles sighs.

"That's what we need to talk about. I'll explain later."

"Hey, look, it's Isaac!" Allison says as the Cyclones go on the field to take their defensive position. 

Speaking of the devil, Isaac has turned around and when he sees Scott and Allison, his smile is just as wide as Hale’s earlier, his glove raised as a salute. Operation Seduce Isaac seems to be going well.

"You were supposed to give me details later," Stiles tells Scott, jabbing his elbow in Scott's ribs. "It is later!"

Allison laughs and throws an arm around Stiles' shoulders, kissing him on the cheek.

"Still living vicariously through us, aren't you?" she teases.

Stiles laughs as Scott squishes him on the other side.

"Unhand me, you octopuses!" he says. "You know the idea of Scott's junk coming close to mine makes me shudder! He's family!" 

Scott laughs too, kissing him exaggeratedly on the cheek. "Oh no, my dreams thwarted, once again! I will sway you, one day!"

"No, no!" Stiles says, and he knows they are drawing attention to themselves but unsettling bigots is a constant source of fun. Stiles extricates himself from his best friend's arms and grabs Allison, lifting her up and taking her bench, plunking her down on his lap as a shield.

"There! Protect me, woman!"

He hasn't had this much fun in weeks, and it does him some good. Eventually Allison takes the middle seat and Scott and her keep whispering to each other, probably plotting details for their seduction operation.

Stiles, of course, goes back to watching Hale, who plays one fine baseball game once more. He does look at Stiles a couple more times, his smile still present but not as big as when he first saw him. He's probably nervous about their imminent conversation, too.

**

The Cyclones can't win them all, though it was a close score. Unfortunately, the Highlanders evened the game at the top of the 9th inning. They then managed to add two points in the 10th, running away with the win.

Stiles stays behind as the spectators start to leave the stands. After taking a deep breath, he walks a couple of rows down and waits right next to the fence delimiting the field. Hale soon spots him and, visibly uneasy, comes over.

"Hey," Stiles says. He’s aiming for casual, but he feels like he misses by a mile.

"Hi," Hale says. "Thanks for coming."

God, his eyes are _unreal_ , and Stiles finds himself mesmerized. After a couple of seconds of awkward silence, Stiles offers his hand.

"My name is Stiles," he says.

Derek looks relieved and shakes his hand firmly. "Stiles?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Derek," Hale says. 

Stiles smirks, amused, as Derek lets go of his hand.

"I know," he says, making Derek smile shyly in return.

"I guess you do." Hale takes a deep breath, looking supremely uncomfortable. "Look, I wish I-"

Stiles interrupts him. "Do you really want to do this here?"

There are a lot of people milling about, including Derek's teammates, fans, coaches. He doesn't think this is going to turn into a scene, but he'd like more privacy. Derek looks around and nods.

"Yeah, no, not really. Do you mind? Meeting me later?" Derek asks.

"I just suggested it," Stiles says with a smile. He is getting more confident now that he sees that Hale is just as awkward about this as he is. He points to Scott and Allison, who are talking to Isaac, ten feet away. "We're supposed to go to Tapas. Meet you there?"

Derek nods. "Okay, sure. Give me an hour or so? Coach's speeches are always a little longer when we lose."

"That's fine. Take your time, I'll be there," Stiles promises, and Derek nods again.

"Okay, thank you. See you later."

He touches his hat with his fingers as a salute. It's extremely cute, and Stiles smiles again, which earns him a small relieved smile from Hale in return. Dammit. It's not that Stiles planned on staying mad at the guy forever, but he's making it very hard to retain an appropriate level of righteous anger until he's been properly apologized to.

**

As soon as they get to Tapas, Stiles goes straight for the bar and orders three tequila shots that he gulps one after the other. The goal isn't to get drunk, he doesn't plan on having more until Hale gets here, but it's going to loosen him a little. The barman, somehow, doesn’t even question Stiles on his age (it could be because of the confidence in ordering the shots or the huge tip he leaves). Scott appears by Stiles' side as he is slamming the last empty shot glass on the bar.

"What's up, man?" he asks, concerned.

"Nervous," Stiles says. 

"You didn't speak to Hale for long at the ballpark, did that go okay?"

Scott can be very perceptive when he wants to be.

"Sure. But we postponed our 'discussion'," Stiles says, making air quotes. "He's coming by later."

It makes Scott nod. "Hence why you’re nervous. What’s it about, Stiles?"

"The Luau party," Stiles admits with a sigh.

Scott frowns. "He's part of whatever happened there? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because I didn't want you to feel as if you had to defend my honor; I'm a big boy," Stiles says. 

More alcohol is very tempting, so Stiles gets up. He walks to Allison, who is near the dance floor. Scott is scowling now, which frankly isn't scary but somehow adorable. 

"Did your honor need defending? Dude!"

"It's fine," Stiles says. "And he asked to apologize. Which he will do later. So can we forget about it for now?"

That mellows Scott a little. 

"He better," he says, still looking annoyed.

Stiles gives Scott a sideways hug, rubs his hair. "Thanks man, you're the best."

Which, of course, earns him a huge puppy grin. Stiles loves that guy, he really does. 

They chit chat as the club fills up, the alcohol in Stiles' blood starting to do its job. He's still nervous, of course, and can't help fidgeting. Maybe it would have been better if he'd just let Hale say whatever he wanted to say at the ballpark, it would be done. Now Stiles has to see him again and deal with the awkwardness once more. Stiles notices Scott having a whispered conversation with Allison before he goes away for a bit, but it's probably to go to the bathroom or to order something to drink. She slides next to him.

"It's going to go well, don't worry," she says.

Stiles snort-laughs. "He told you. Already." 

"Of course," she says with a dimpled smile. "And as I said, it's going to go well. I saw how he smiled at you."

As if he needed to be reminded of that. "Jesus Christ, that smile."

Allison laughs and then perks up, before smiling even wider. She offers her hand and gestures to the empty dance floor.

"What?" Stiles says, before hearing what is coming out of the stereo. It's playing 'Damaged', the song to which he and Allison did a dance routine in the senior talent show back in Beacon Hills. "Shall we?" she asks, mischief in her eyes.

Stiles laughs and accepts. He takes her hand and leads her to the middle of the dance floor as the other people in the club look on curiously. The initial plan for the talent show was for Scott and Allison to do a dance number; it turned out that Scott has two left feet, no matter how Stiles tried to teach him. Stiles was rusty too, not having danced much since his mom died, but in the end, encouraged by Scott, he'd done the show with Allison and they'd _killed_ it.

After a couple of simple moves and twirling Allison around, they fall into the routine they practiced so much as if they'd done it yesterday. It's a lot of fun, Allison laughing through it all, especially when Stiles makes her spin and spin. In minutes they have attracted a little crowd around the dance floor that is cheering them on. Scott is whistling the loudest, of course, and God, Stiles loves these two so much. They finish with a flourish, as Stiles dips Allison dramatically, the spectators clapping and whistling. Stiles feels great now. The dance let him spend his excess energy, and he feels more centered, calmer. 

"Thank you," he whispers in Allison's ear. She pecks him on the cheek.

"Always a pleasure; I've missed this." Her eyes are bright, cheeks rosy. Scott is one lucky guy.

"Me too. We should work on another number. Something sexy," he says with a wink and she laughs some more.

"We should. And talking about sexy, your boy is here," Allison adds, nodding towards the side of the dance floor.

Their little number gave the push for other dancers to come on the dance floor, even if it's early by club standards. In between them, Stiles rapidly spots Hale. He's standing a little stiff by the dance floor, looking straight at them. Now wearing a white short-sleeved shirt that contrasts beautifully with his tan skin and dark hair, he's devastatingly handsome. Once again Stiles' insides twist with a mix of desire, nervousness and a tad of lingering resentment. 

"Okay, here goes nothing," Stiles says, kissing Allison's cheek. 

As he makes his way towards Hale, he gets several compliments on the dance, mainly from girls. Usually he'd stop and chat a bit, but he can't put off the apology anymore.

"Hey," he says when he reaches Hale. What a master conversationalist he is.

"Hi. That was awesome," Hale says, waving towards the dance floor. The compliment seems genuine, but he looks incredibly uncomfortable.

"Thanks!" Stiles says. Making an executive decision, he gestures to the bar. "Come with me."

Hale follows, but when Stiles tries to order a couple of shots for him, he refuses.

"No, thanks, it's fine!"

"You look as tense as one of Allison's bowstrings, man," Stiles says.

It makes Hale smile a little. "Well, yeah. Can we just-" 

He gestures to the door leading to the terrace, and Stiles nods.

"Yeah, sure."

The club is getting a bit more crowded, but the terrace is almost empty. Stiles walks to an unoccupied corner and finally turns to face Hale, who looks like he's about to bolt.

"Relax, Hale, I won't punch you in the face," Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe you should," he says. "I'm so sorry about what happened. What Matt said, and the way I grabbed your arm-"

Stiles frowns. "You had every right to grab my arm. In fact, I should be the one apologizing for reaching like that. I do get touchy feely when drunk. It seemed like a good idea at the time, sorry."

"I had no idea what you were going to do," Hale admits. "But if you don't mind I caught your hand-" he looks confused.

"It's how you dropped it like I was disgusting as soon as your friend called me a fag that burned," Stiles says.

"No! Oh God," Hale says, horrified. "That's not- I just froze, and when Matt said that I was so shocked I let go, but that's not-"

He's livid, with huge tragic eyes and Stiles takes pity (maybe a little too easily). How can he stay mad when it's clear the guy will guilt trip like crazy all by himself?

"That's how it felt to me. Believe me, I get turned down all the time. It's embarrassing, but I bounce back no problem. But getting called homophobic slurs still stings, so take that into consideration if you ever come out."

"Jeez, I'm so sorry," Hale says, now looking at the floor and gone from white to red. "It's even worse. You really should punch me in the face."

Stiles can't help it, he laughs. Hale, surprised, looks up at him.

"It's fine, Hale. You said you thought about it... what do you wish you had done?"

"Derek, please," he says.

Confused, Stiles frowns. "What?"

"You're calling me Hale; I'd prefer Derek?" he asks, hopeful.

And yeah, Stiles never could resist puppy eyes. "Sure. What should you have done, Derek?"

Derek rubs his neck. "Told Matt to shut up. Frankly, I felt like punching _him_ in the face. And everyone who laughed."

Stiles smiles. "Telling him to shut up would have been good. Also saying it's not cool. And at me you should have said something like 'sorry, man, no touching without asking' with a smirk. I would have gotten it with minimal embarrassment, and no danger of your teammate even guessing you like men."

"Okay. I should also have checked if you were okay when you were sick. I tried to find your friend, but by the time I did, he was with you already," Derek says.

That's a nice thing to hear. "That's cool, thanks."

"You don't hate me?" Derek asks. My God, he's giving Scott a run for his money with the hopeful face. 

"Nah," Stiles says, shrugging. "Life's too short for hate. I was angry for a while, and I _did_ fantasize about punching you in the face, but we're good. As long as you promise to do better if something like this happens again."

Derek smiles widely, relieved. "I swear I will, thank you."

It's like a ton of bricks have been taken off Derek's shoulders. He stands a little straighter, more relaxed. How is Stiles supposed to stay peeved? 

"That's all I ask. Come on, let's go back in," Stiles says, going for the door.

"Okay. I think I'll get something to drink, now. Do you want anything?" Derek asks.

Hey, and apology and a drink, that's going well. "Sure, I'll take a beer, thanks. I'll be by the dance floor."

Derek nods and Stiles goes back to his friends, relieved too. He's glad they could talk rationally, and he truly believes Derek didn't want to be as hurtful as he was. By the dance floor he sees Scott, who's all but beaming. The reason is easy to see: Allison and Isaac are dancing together in a way that is rapidly becoming intimate. There is soulful gazing in each other's eyes, Isaac's hand on Allison's hip, her arms wound around Isaac's neck. 

"Attagirl," Stiles tells Scott, who laughs.

"She's good."

"He knows you are part of the package, right?" Stiles asks. 

"Uh huh," Scott agrees. "I did the first approach, he seemed eager."

A Heineken appears before Stiles' face; he takes it with a smile.

"Hey, thanks," Stiles tells Derek. It's his usual, while Derek has a Samuel Adams.

Scott looks at Derek, eyes squinted. "Everything okay?" he asks like the overprotective friend he is.

"Peachy," Stiles says. "Scott, Derek." He shouts as introductions. Derek offers a hand that Scott takes it after a second of hesitation.

"You mess with him again and I'll end you," Scott says, making Stiles roll his eyes.

"I won't, I swear," Derek says.

"Please. Stop posturing, Scott."

Scott grumbles and looks back at the dance floor. On his other side, Derek visibly tenses all over again.

"What?" Stiles asks. Derek is glaring at the dancers.

"I can't believe Isaac-"

Right that second, Allison gives him and Scott a huge grin and a thumb up from over Isaac's shoulder. Stiles laughs as they both give her one right back.

Frankly, Derek looks flabbergasted.

"You're okay with that?" he asks, looking at Stiles as if he's an alien.

"Of course," Stiles says with a smirk. "She's been working on bringing him to bed for weeks now."

Derek blinks, as if has trouble processing. "Isaac, you and your girlfriend?"

Poor guy, it seems he has encountered a blue screen of death. Stiles takes pity.

"No, no. Allison's not my girlfriend, she's Scott's." Scott, who is making his way over right now, in fact. "They're the ones aiming for an Isaac sandwich."

Everything indicates that it will be a success, because when Scott plasters himself to Allison's back, Isaac leans in and kisses Scott right on the mouth. If it wasn't Scott, it would be hot as hell. By his side, Hale is now frozen, mouth opened in shock.

Stiles laughs. "I take from your expression you didn't know Isaac was bi too?"

"No!" Derek says, eyes huge. "He never told…"

"You never did either, right?" Stiles says, as gently as he can. Derek shakes his head, unable to stop looking at the trio. They are moving in synch together now, having a blast. There is absolutely no question that the sex will be fantastic. But sex with Scott: ewww. 

They are drawing a bit of attention from the clubbers, but not that much. 

"Any other teammates around?" Stiles asks. 

Derek finally unsticks his eyes from the show to look around. He nods. "Yeah, a couple of them."

"And? Do they look like they are planning to end Isaac?"

He shakes his head and looks down at his beer. "No. They don't seem to mind for now."

"Probably because a threesome isn't as gay. But I swear, Derek, most won't care. I'm sorry coaches and organizations are still so backward."

Derek drains his beer – wow, that went down fast – and puts it on the counter. At the moment, his face is totally blank and he meets Stiles' eyes only for a goodbye.

"Yeah. I've got to go; I have an exam tomorrow. Thanks again for meeting me."

He leaves in a hurry. With a twinge of disappointment, Stiles wonders if they'll meet again. 

***

The outsider on the desk is curious about their story, and seemingly very invested.

_So, did you meet? How did it go? Did you guys make up?_

Derek has had a class since Thursday, because he answered. They alternate, as Stiles normally sees a response from him in his Tuesday and Thursday classes.

_Yeah. It went well? I think we’re good. Are we good, S?_

_Yep, we’re good. Lesson learned, yadda, yadda…_ Stiles writes back, drawing a smiley face, to emphasize the point. 

It’s true, he’s totally over the Luau party drama, except for that Matt person he doesn’t even remember the face of. But hey, he won’t lose energy for a troll, so the incident is closed in his mind.

On the other hand, Stiles can’t stop thinking about Derek Hale and his tragic face during his apology. The guy might be the physical embodiment of a jock, but he sure has a soft center. Plus he really seemed shaken when he learned that Isaac was bisexual. It makes Stiles wonder what kind of family he has; if he comes from a small place, or whatever made him so insecure. Stiles had been nervous to come out to his Dad in junior year, but in the end it had been a total non-issue. Of course there is the almost-professional athlete conundrum; it must be a big part of Derek's issues.

As usual Biological Statistics drags, but Stiles has to pay more attention than usual because an exam is coming soon. He realized the problems were not as easy as he thought they would be when he'd tackled a few in the last week. He even stays to ask a quick question at the end of the class, and thankfully Prof Murray is a lot more efficient in one on one explanation than in lectures.

A bit more confident in his ability to go through the exercises now, Stiles gathers his notes to leave. He's trying to stuff his notebook in his backpack as he walks out, when someone grabs the bag.

"Here, wait a second."

Surprised, Stiles looks up to see a sheepish Derek. "Hey, hi."

"Hey," Derek says as they manage to get all of the school stuff secure in Stiles' bag and zipped in. 

They are the only students in the corridor. Biological Statistics ends at 4:50, which is the last period of the day except for evening classes, so it's unsurprising. On the other hand, it means that Derek must have been waiting for him.

"Figured out my schedule?" he asks with a smile. 

He doesn't mind. He considered trying to find out Derek's, too, even when he was just Closeted Jock to him.

Derek's ears are pink, it's adorable. 

"I took a chance. Would you have a coffee with me?" Is Derek asking him out on a date? Nah, not a deep closeted case like him. In fact, Derek confirms it's not a date in the next breath. "I don't know anyone I could talk with about, you know. If you don't mind."

Stiles smiles; he's glad Derek is reaching out. Even though he's cute as hell and it is a little disappointing that there is no actual interest in him.

"Sure, no problem. I can be your bisexual Yoda!"

Derek ducks his head down hiding a smile. He also rapidly scans the corridor, and yeah, Stiles will have to thread gently.

"I just have a couple of questions," Derek says. "The Internet is great, but it's still words on a screen."

"True, true," Stiles says. "Hey, by the way, I meant to ask! What are you studying?"

"Electrical engineering," Derek says. "Had it spread out a bit to play, but it's my last year."

"Engineer, huh?" Stiles says. He shakes his head, making tutting sounds. "Oh no. One of those _annoying_ people who have the looks, the talent and the brain? Come on."

Derek blushes, but he's smiling non-stop now and it's beautiful.

"Shut up."

"Just saying it as I see it," Stiles says with a little elbow jab. "What's next? Has recruitment started? When is drafting again?"

"I've talked with a several people," Derek says. "I got picked by the Mets last June, but I chose to finish my degree first."

"No way!" The Mets? It's his favorite team; this is exciting. "That's awesome dude! And a smart choice to finish your degree first."

"Some of the guys say I'm crazy not going to A level right now, but-"

"If you get injured or have a bad streak, you wouldn't have a diploma to fall back on," Stiles reasons.

"Exactly!" Derek says with feeling. It's as if he's had to defend that argument several times. "Yes, I'm taking a chance, but in the long run it's safer."

"Plus you're having a great season so far; they won't forget you," Stiles says.

Derek smiles at him. "Yeah, it's going well."

They have reached the college's coffee shop, that is pretty slow at dinner time. It will fill back up with caffeine addicts later on. Stiles sends Derek to hold a table and orders for them. It seems Derek drinks lattes, who knew, while Stiles likes his coffee black. It's probably not ideal at this time of the day, but Stiles does have a lot of math problems to do later.

They talk classes a little, Stiles mostly about his latest adventures in the Chemistry lab. It makes Derek laugh, which is a bit too addictive. Stiles is having a good time, but he has to remember that this is not a date: Derek had questions.

"So, what's got you so stumped that you need to ask The Stiles?" he asks.

Derek, who when he's past being shy seems to be sarcastic as fuck, rolls his yes. "Please, never refer to yourself as The Stiles ever again."

"I like it!" Stiles says with a wink. 

Derek is back to being a little tense; probably worried.

"Come on, don't fret. There are no stupid questions," he reassures.

"You're bi too, right?" Derek finally asks after chewing on his lip.

Stiles nods. "Yeah. My first relationship was with a girl. Then it's been a little of the two. Lately I've been with more guys, but who knows what life has in store."

"I've read that sometimes, someone can be romantically attracted to only one gender, even if they like, you know, both," Derek says.

"True, I've heard of that too. Heck, I knew a guy who'd fuck whomever but only fell in love with girls. It happens, and it's okay." 

Is that how Derek feels? It could be. It would fit with a closeted mindset, where a guy will not even _let_ feelings enter the mix with male hookups.

"Sure," Derek says, looking away. "I suppose. If that is what works for them."

Which seems to imply it doesn't for Derek, interesting. 

"I've talked a little with Isaac," Derek finally says. Oh, so _that's_ what has been bothering him.

"And?" Stiles prompts.

"He likes your friends. A lot."

"Good to hear, they like him too," Stiles says with a smile. 

Heck, he's heard nothing but Isaac this and Isaac that since last Thursday. He had to draw the line at details about how good they were together.

"Frankly?" Derek says, looking straight at him for the first time in minutes. "I'm afraid he's going to get his heart broken."

Stiles frowns. "Well it's always a gamble when you enter a relationship. And if he's trying to get either Scott or Allison for himself, then yeah, he's going to have a problem."

"A relationship?" Derek asks, as if the thought didn't enter his mind.

"Of course. Scott and Allie sometimes pick someone for a pure threesome, but that's not what's going on with Isaac. Not how they talk about him," Stiles says, taking a gulp of coffee.

"You think they can make it work?" Derek asks. He seems fascinated.

"They did before," Stiles says with a shrug. "They were with Lydia for three years, and that only ended because they decided not to do the long distance thing when Lydia moved to Boston. With good communication and clear expectations, poly relationships can work."

Derek eyes are a little unfocused, lost in thought. A poly arrangement would probably suit Derek well, allowing him to pass as straight-ish. 

"You should talk to Allison or Scott; they could answer be-"

He's interrupted by a dark skinned girl who appears out of nowhere to lean against Derek's back, chin on his shoulder. She grins at Stiles predatorily.

"Is this the guy?" she asks Derek, eying Stiles up and down.

"Shit," Derek says with feeling. "Go away, Braeden. Please."

"Nope," she replies. "Very cute, by the way."

Derek is red as a tomato and even hides his face in his hands. "Braeden, please," his tone is plaintive. "I'll do all of the lab reports by myself."

"Mmm, tempting," she says. 

"I'm intrigued," Stiles says. He really is, even though whatever she wants is clearly to embarrass Derek.

"Loverboy, here-"

"Ex-" amends Derek.

They are two very beautiful people; Stiles admires how gorgeous a couple they’d be.

"Ex-loverboy here, current friend," Braeden continues.

"Not after this we're not," Derek protests.

"Anyhoo, Der had a very interesting question for me when hammered on Sunday."

"Getting drunk on the day of the Lord?" Stiles tsks playfully.

"Shut up, the both of you," Derek says, now resting his forehead on the table. It's hilarious. "Braeden, I'll give you a hundred bucks to leave right now without another word."

"Nu huh," Braeden says. "He asked me if I'd be down for a threesome."

Derek sits straight back up, almost making Braeden stumble back. Stiles raises his eyebrows, somehow impressed. Derek is moving a lot faster on that issue than he thought.

"No I did not!" he protests. "I asked what you _thought_ about threesomes. Not the same thing!"

"Derek, honey, you know the answer to that question. I brought my friend Vicky to your birthday party, remember? You can be a little dense with those things but you knew exactly what was on offer that night."

Derek, embarrassed to a point that is going from funny to a little painful, has his impressive arms crossed over his chest and a perfect grumpy cat expression on his face.

"Whatever."

"But then," Braeden continues. "You left before I could process your question and I've thought about it since. It was clear you were not interested in two girls at the time. So here I am, thinking you must have asked for another man in the mix."

Even from the other side of the table, Stiles can _feel_ Derek's muscle locking up. He's barely breathing. Braeden immediately goes from teasing to concerned.

"Hey, hey. What's that? It's okay, I'm just kidding," she says.

"It's fine Derek," Stiles adds. "Braeden's just teasing you."

It makes Derek relax a little. 

"Yeah," she says, kissing Derek's temple. "And whatever. People like who they like, that's all. If you like dick, who am I do judge? I do too! And it won't change the fact you're the best oral I've ever had."

Derek facepalms once again, ears back to a deep red. "Braeden," he groans, mortified.

Stiles, though? The fact that Derek's awesome at eating a girl out is an image that will go directly to his spank bank folder.

"What, it's true!" Braeden says, winking at Stiles. "I'm just saying, though. If you want a casual threesome, I'm game. Especially with cutie here."

Which what? Wow, Stiles has never been propositioned so explicitly before. Especially not while stone-cold sober and in a coffee shop.

"Oh my God," Derek says. "I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare."

"But I'm pretty sure that's not going to be your thing, babe," Braeden adds. She addresses Stiles directly. "See, Derek is bad at casual, that's why we broke it off. He's more of a true love, white picket fence kind of guy."

"That's okay," Stiles says, as gently as he can. Poor Derek, he probably won't ever want to speak to him again after this. "I'm a true love white picket fence kind of guy, too. Poly relationships are not for everyone. They are sure not for me."

He has this tendency to be consumed by love and wanting his partner to be the same, and he's way too insecure to share. Or he never found the right people to do it with, maybe, but he's not that tempted to try either. 

Derek is peeking between two fingers, before he lowers his hands.

"No?"

"Nah," Stiles says with a shrug. "I'm way too high maintenance."

"Oh." Derek turns to Braeden and scowls at her. "I swear, you live to embarrass me."

Braeden smiles widely. "Why would you say that? Oh, and speaking of-"

"No!" Derek interrupts. "For the hundredth time, I won't give you my sister's number, okay? No way, ever."

With a wink at Stiles, Braeden gets up. "I'll leave you be, then. Take care, babe. And you," she points at Stiles with narrowed eyes. "Don't go and break his heart, or I'll find you and you will suffer."

"Oh Jesus," Derek says, addressing the ceiling. 

Stiles gapes as Braeden sashays out of the coffee shop.

"Did I just get the shovel talk from your ex? After she proposed a casual threesome?"

"Please, please forget every word that came out of her mouth. I beg you," Derek says.

"Nu huh," Stiles says, teasing. "I know your secret now."

It's weird how Derek looks cornered by that. It's not like Braeden saying Derek would like to have sex with another woman and another man is news. He got that too from the whole Scott-Allison-Isaac fascination.

"You have a marshmallow center, Hale. True Love, all of that. You can't even play tough with me ever again," Stiles says.

It makes Derek smile a little. "I guess."

"Come on," Stiles says, getting up. "Let's go get pizza, I'm starving."

That owes him a full smile, and it's as beautiful as every time he's seen it.

***

Writing on the desk isn't the principal way he communicates with Derek now, though they still do it for fun. They also text regularly, and if they happen to see each other in the corridors they'll say a few words too. Derek even helps him with his Multi Variable Calculus one day at lunch, after hearing him complain about it. Stiles goes to the Cyclones' home games with Scott and Allison, and always gets smiles and touching-hat salutes when he does. In short, they are slowly building a friendship, to Stiles' surprise. Not that Derek isn't a good guy -- he's great -- but with the way they started off, he wouldn't have believed it a month ago. 

The problem with this development are the feelings. Stiles is still very attracted to the guy, and on top, Derek is crazy smart, kind, and funny in a dry sort of way that makes Stiles laugh every time they hang together. The snark and banter they share, may it be by text or in person, is often the best part of his day. So yes, Stiles is falling in love and it's against his better judgment. He does catch Derek looking at him sometimes -- he knows there is mutual attraction -- but Stiles is convinced they wouldn't work. He won't hide who he is, ever again, not even for Derek.

That he promised to himself that he wouldn't sleep with or date Derek doesn't mean that Stiles isn't bothered when other people try. And oh boy, do they try. Stiles has seen notes being passed through disguised autograph signing, even, like in bad sports movies. In fact, Derek gets hit on all the time, which can be expected with his everything. When Stiles didn't know the guy, he would have thought he'd take advantage of it, but he doesn't. In fact, Derek is extremely shy and there's no better way to make him freeze than to be forward. It puts the Luau party in a different light, too. Stiles winces retroactively when he sees Derek frequently having to dodge unsolicited touches. 

Of what Stiles has seen, Derek hasn't responded to any advances, not in the last month or so where they have been hanging out. It's mostly women coming at him, of all ages and all types, and not once does he seem interested. Then, one memorable night, a guy - attractive, wide smile, Stiles hates him on sight – makes eyes at Derek all evening from across the club. Stiles knows for a fact that interest was made clear because the guy accosted Derek as he was going to the bathroom. That is it, he thinks. Here is Derek's chance for a quick hook up, and Stiles hates the way his stomach twists with jealousy. He orders a beer and is planning on downing it when Derek reappears at his side.

"You didn't order one for me?" he asks, disappointed. 

It has been two minutes, tops. Derek looks perfectly put together, no sign of sex what so ever. Stiles cranes his neck around and sees the guy from earlier boxing in a twink against a wall, smarmy smile in place.

"To be honest? I thought you were out of here."

Derek frowns, but then he understands the allusion and blushes. "Oh. No, no. Not interested."

"Okay, sure, your call," Stiles says. It's not that he resents Derek, but he personally has to work for it. "You'll find someone who reaches your impossible standards eventually."

Derek scoffs and orders his own beer. "I'm not difficult."

"I beg to differ!" Stiles says. 

"Whatever," Derek replies, focused on peeling the label off his previous bottle. Poor thing, he looks dejected.

"Come on, let's go play some pool!" Stiles suddenly decides, clapping his hands.

Derek smiles a little. "You want to go con people, you mean."

"What? Why would you say that?" Stiles says, innocently. "It always takes me a bit to remember how angles and shit works, that's all."

"After you," Derek says. He might protest for show but he's becoming a pretty impressive pool shark himself.

There's a gaggle of obnoxious frat boys at the end table, already half way to drunk. It's going to be fun.

***

The girl is cute, has purple pixie hair, is tiny and has a smile that is positively wicked. Plus, judging by the way she's been looking at him for the last half hour, she's interested.

She's exactly what Stiles hoped to find tonight.

The last couple of days have been extremely draining, due to a couple of exams. At least he thinks he nailed his Introduction to Biological Statistics test, so that's good news. The Cyclones are on the road, so there's been a distinct lack of physical Derek in his life. On the other hand, there have been a lot more texts. The guy is obviously bored in those long bus rides, and it shows. In fact, Stiles' phone started pinging regularly earlier. He doesn't know why it’s driving him nuts tonight, but he sent Derek a quick message that he was going out and then disabled his notifications. Oh, Stiles likes texting with Derek. He likes it a little too much and that's the problem: he seriously considered staying at home, on a Saturday night, just in case Derek would text. Like a pining loser. That Derek did text doesn't make it better. 

Plus, if he's totally honest, Stiles is horny as hell. It's been nothing but his hand for months and he's been having the most vivid sex dreams for days now. About Derek, of course; no one is surprised. He'd had them occasionally at first, even when Derek was just the hot shortstop he could ogle from class. But Stiles' very active imagination is on overdrive lately, and he's been waking up hard, wanting, and grinding his mattress like a teen too many times. It's embarrassing, that's what it is, and Stiles came to the conclusion that he needs to get laid. 

He needs for his brain to fully understand that Derek won't happen, and then relay the message to his dick. Or maybe his dick could get the message across to his brain, he'd take that too. Cute Pixie Girl looks as if she'd be interested in doing things that would definitely take Derek off his mind, at least for a night. 

After another prolonged eye contact from two tables away, Stiles decides to go for it. He turns to tell Scott - hopes to receive some moral support and a fist bump of encouragement - but his BFF is too busy making out with Allison to care. After taking a deep breath, Stiles gets up and leans on the bar right next to Pixie Girl, who grins at him. Good sign.

"Took you long enough!" she says.

"Hey, you could have come to me!" he replies, amused. 

"I wasn't sure if you were just looking, or interested in more," she says with a shrug.

"Here I am," Stiles says. He's definitely interested in more.

"Here you are," Pixie says. "So, when the cat is away, mice go dancing?"

Stiles frowns. "What?"

"You're usually with that baseball player. Looking for a little action on the side?"

He gapes. "What? No! We're friends, that's all."

Pixie laughs. "Yeah, sure."

"I swear. And I resent that you'd think I'd cheat like that. Rude," Stiles says.

"Heh," she says, shrugging. "I don't know you."

"True. I'm Stiles," he says. "And I'm not a cheater."

"Nice to meet you, non-cheater Stiles," she replies. 

"And what's your name?" he asks, since she's not volunteering it. "I keep calling you Pixie in my head."

She laughs, throwing her head back. "I like it. Pixie it is," she says. Her eyes are sparkling when she adds, "it's not like names really matter for tonight, right?"

"If that's how you want to play this," Stiles says. She sounds cool, and she's really cute. Maybe it would be nice to know her more. 

"It is," Pixie says. "I'm not a cheater either, but my heart is taken."

Stiles sighs dramatically. "So you want to forget them for a little bit? I know the feeling."

"I bet you do," Pixie says, getting up. Once down from her bar stool, she's even shorter than Stiles expected, the top of her head barely reaching his collarbone. She takes his hand and starts towing him towards the dance floor. "Come on, let's dance."

The place is crowded, and Stiles follows Pixie to the center of the dance floor where they carve a place for themselves. Stiles tends to take space when he lets go for fun, and it makes Pixie laugh. As long as they are dancing with each other, a bit apart, it's fine. But when Pixie comes closer so they can make it more intimate, the height difference becomes a problem. After a couple of minutes of mitigated success in finding a way to fit together, Pixie grabs Stiles' shirt and pulls him with her with a wink. For a second Stiles thinks that she's tired of this and they'll immediately jump into more. But no, she's not pulling him out of the dance floor but towards the DJ. He's frankly puzzled until Pixie, still pulling him while she's walking backwards with a smile, climbs on one of the steps leading to the DJ's platform. 

"Ta dah!" she says, looping her arms around his neck.

There they go! She's still shorter than him, but it's a lot easier to fit now. Stiles laughs, circling her waist and bringing her close.

"Great thinking," he praises as they start to move in synch, grinding together. 

Pixie is a natural, moving her body with an ease and confidence that promises for when they get to sex. He's missed this: being close, the teasing, clearly going towards something more. One-night stands are not something Stiles seeks a lot. He's trying to find someone to build something with – and fuck, Derek shouldn't be crossing his mind, no way. Stiles pulls Pixie a little closer and he's about to lean down to kiss her when a hand closes on his shoulder. 

His reflex is to shake it off, he's busy here. But the hand comes back, makes him pull away from Pixie. Clearly annoyed at the interruption too, she looks over his shoulder and does an epic eye roll. What the hell?

"Stiles."

"What?" he says, snappy. Stiles turns around expecting Scott having something of life or death importance to say (it better be). Instead it's Derek, who looks a little wide-eyed, flushed with embarrassment.

"Sorry, but -"

"What the fuck!" Stiles spits out, suddenly furious. Why would Derek do this, stop him as he's obviously having a moment with a girl? Not only is he making his life complicated in being unattainable, now he's going to actively cockblock Stiles on top?

Derek recoils, but instead of slinking away he squares his jaw. "I need to talk to you."

"Right now?" Stiles exclaims, disbelieving. 

"Yes," Derek says. He's red as a tomato, but Stiles has seen this mulish expression on his face before: Derek won't back down until he gets what he wants. "It can't wait."

Pixie taps his chest and Stiles looks down at her. She looks exasperated.

"Come on, go," she says and Stiles can't believe her. 

"He can't just come here-"

"But he did. So go talk it out," she says. "Can't promise I'll be here when you come back, but-"

"I hope you are," Stiles tells her, bending down for a peck on the lips that she accepts with a smile. She then shakes her head in a way that could mean 'no' or 'you are silly'. Could be both.

Stiles then turns to glare at Derek and gestures at him to lead the way. Following him thought the crowd, a million things pass through Stiles' mind. He had no idea Derek would be back tonight, at least not early enough to go out. What time is it, anyway? And what was so urgent that Derek came to the club in sweats and an old Saints t-shirt? Did he come straight from the bus? Why? Is someone hurt somewhere? How is it that Derek dressed like a slob is more attractive than anyone in this bar? And what the heck is wrong with Stiles that he's feeling more aroused just looking at Derek's fucking shoulder and his ass in sweatpants than from dancing and grinding with a super cute girl? The whole situation makes him even madder than when he was interrupted. He follows Derek through the employees' door leading to the back store while pretty much stomping on the ground.

"What the hell, Derek!" Stiles all but growls when the door shuts behind them and the club's music dims.

"Sorry," Derek says, but he doesn't look sorry at all. He has a look on his face as if he's on a mission.

"What did you want, right at this moment?" Stiles asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a shelf. "This better be good."

"I was going to talk to you tomorrow," Derek says. "I texted and everything. But then Erica called-"

Stiles has taken out his phone when Derek mentioned texts and yes, he has a dozen unanswered bubbles added to their previous conversation. A couple are from not long after Stiles put the notifs at off, where Derek does ask to see him tomorrow. And then, starting half an hour ago, several urgent ones saying that Derek's coming right now, that they really need to talk. 

"Who the hell is Erica?" Stiles says, distracted. "And what the fuck is going on?"

"Erica is behind the bar. I didn't introduce you two because it would end the world as we know it," Derek says, obviously trying to make a joke to diffuse the tension.

"And why would a barmaid's call make you come running?" Stiles asks, suspicious. Derek has people watching him?

Derek starts to mumble what sounds like an explanation. "She knows, and then she saw you with that girl. So she told me, and-" 

"Pixie?" he asks. What does she have to do with anything? It can't be one of Derek's exes, she would have said it and not called him 'that baseball player'. But then… Stiles' not stupid and he’s starting to connect the dots. "What does Erica know, Derek?"

Instead of answering with words, like a normal person, Derek walks right up to him with determination. He might sort of saw this coming, but Stiles freezes when Derek takes hold of his head gently but firmly and kisses him. It's intent and soft all at once and Stiles' doesn't know how to react. It's at the same time everything he's been dreaming about and his worst nightmare. He almost - _almost_ \- gives in, but finally pushes Derek away.

"Why did you do that?" Stiles asks, going from angry to sad. He likes Derek. He wanted them to be friends, and this might ruin everything.

"I want to be with you," Derek says. He looks a bit less sure of himself now, searching Stiles' face. "I just can't stop thinking about you."

"I can't, Derek," Stiles says, shaking his head. This is so fucking sad, and made even worse by the way Derek's face falls. "You're great, but I can't be your dirty little secret."

"No!" Derek exclaims. "Oh God, no. I would never ask that of you."

What is going on, then? Stiles blinks at Derek, completely lost.

Derek puts a hand on Stiles' jaw, caresses his cheek with his thumb. There is so much emotion in Derek's eyes, Stiles feels as if he's drowning.

"In San Jose, I was rooming with fucking Matt of all people. I was on my bed, trying not to text you but thinking of you anyway, like I always do. Then Matt called one actor or another on TV a faggot and I just… I told him to go fuck himself. He asked what was the problem, was I a faggot too? I had a choice. Either I lied or stood up for once. So I thought… what would Stiles do?"

Stiles can't help but to smile at that. "The Stiles-"

Derek moves his hand to put it over Stiles' mouth. He shakes his head, a little smile at the corner of his mouth nonetheless. "No. We agreed. Never, ever, refer to yourself as The Stiles. And I'm sorry but I need for you to just listen to me."

After a nod, Derek uncovers his mouth. "Thank you. So I wondered what you would do, and it came out, easy. I told Matt: 'Maybe I am. Got a problem with that?'"

"Attaboy," Stiles says, so proud of him. "I wish I could have seen it."

Derek beams. "Yeah, me too. And the best thing is that yes, I was nervous. And worried. I did wonder if I had just tanked my career, because Matt is a fucking loudmouth. But when it was done I didn't want to take it back. It was the right thing to say."

"Fuck Matt. How did he react?"

"Nothing much. He mostly looked at me with wide eyes, and then raised his hands as if warding me off. He said 'No, no. No problem.'" Derek looks especially pleased.

"Were you glaring? Flexing your muscles menacingly?" Stiles asks.

"I wasn't!" Derek protest, but then he makes a face. "Maybe I was glaring a little."

"He was alone, and pathetically outgunned. He might have been more of an asshole in a group," Stiles muses.

"Yeah, I thought of that too. But as far as I know, he didn't tell anyone," Derek says.

Which is good, but also bad.

"It probably won't stay a secret, though. Are you ready for that?"

"Stiles, I've wanted to be with you for months, but too chicken shit to even try. I thought that at least we were friends, and that I was okay with that if that's all you would allow. But then I'd think of you meeting someone brave enough for you, and it was killing me inside. So back in San Jose, after telling Matt off, I thought fuck it. Fuck everything. If baseball is so backwards that I can't let myself be with the person I love, then it might not be worth it."

Oh gosh, the L word. Did Derek just tell him he loved him or was that just a figure of speech? The way Derek puts it, though, that kind of sentiment also puts a lot of pressure on a possible relationship.

"Baseball is important to you, Derek," Stiles says. "What if it's true, and you shoot your career up by coming out? You'll resent me. And I can't-"

"No, no. _You_ are important to me," Derek says intently. "You are everything I wish I was: brave, true, outgoing, funny. I want to be able to look myself in the mirror. Maybe, if I do this and I make it, I could help others, too. Make a difference."

And wow, how about that? Where is his shy Closeted Jock now?

"That's a tall order, Derek," Stiles says gently. He wonders if Derek is getting swept away in the whole declaration thing. He might regret this sooner rather than later.

"I know," Derek says. He's serious, very intent. "And if you agree, if you want to be with me too, I can't promise that it's going to be easy all the time."

"I do want to be with you," Stiles says and the huge smile that blooms on Derek's face could power half of America, easy. 

Stiles is agreeing because how can he not? He's in love with Derek, completely crazy about him, in fact. If Derek is indeed serious with this -- ready to come out -- Stiles does want a relationship with him. Even if it's a little more private than he's used to.

"I can be discreet, but I won't hide," Stiles warns. He has to be clear about that, or they won't work. "If explicit PDAs make you uncomfortable, I get it, it's fine. That's one thing. But I don't want to have to overthink if I can hold my boyfriend's hand once in a while, call him a pet name if I feel like it or kiss him on the cheek. And goddamn it, we don't have to be Facebook officials just yet, but my friends and my Dad will hear all about how I have the hottest boyfriend ever!"

"I understand. That's okay," Derek says, still smiling wide. "I want those little things too, and to stop overthinking everything. I just want to be."

"Aww, you are so cute," Stiles says, leaning forward to give Derek a little peck on the mouth.

And yes, awesome, this is something he can do now. Stiles pushes his body forward until he's plastered against Derek's chest, hands gripping his cut hips peeking just over the sweatpants. Stiles loves how Derek's eyes go half-lidded with arousal and want at the touch. 

"So, you understand that you literally cockblocked me earlier," Stiles says, stretching to nip on Derek's earlobe. 

Derek shudders, so responsive to every touch. 

"Not sorry," he says. 

"I'm pretty happy at how it turned out," Stiles agrees. "Any chance I'm still getting laid tonight?"

He expects Derek to be all for it, after all he's tenting his sweats in a very enticing manner. Surprisingly he steps back.

"Not here?" Derek says. He does looks conflicted about it. "I want you, so much. I can't stop thinking about it. But all I've done with guys is quickies."

"Bathrooms, cars and alleyways," Stiles says, a little sad for Derek if that's all he knows. 

"Yeah, and storage rooms, closets, and locker rooms. I know it's pathetic," Derek says, but he's smirking, doesn't seem that bothered about it.

"Locker rooms?" Stiles wonders. "I might ask for that story one day. But yes, okay, where do you want to go?"

Anywhere is fine with Stiles, honest. Even if they don't actually have sex and just make out for a while.

"My place." Derek says. "Come on."

He grabs Stiles' hand, fingers interlocking and everything. As they start walking towards the door, it opens lightly, letting the music and a feminine voice in. 

"Sorry guys, but I'm out of Vodka! Are you decent?"

"It's fine, Erica," Derek says. They meet at the door. "We were leaving, anyway."

Erica turns out to be the blond haired- red lips – full cleavage bombshell behind the bar. She looks delighted when she notices they are holding hands. Derek not only keeps Stiles' hand in his, he squeezes even tighter.

"Oh so _you_ are the tattletale," Stiles says as Erica's grins widens.

"Couldn't let that cutie snatch you up just when Derek here had finally seemed to grow a pair!" she says.

So Derek had talked about making a move to his friends, interesting. 

"I suppose I can forgive you," Stiles concedes, magnanimous.

"Come back tomorrow, I'll give you a drink on the house," Erica says with a wink. 

"I don't think so." Derek tries to go around Erica, pulling Stiles with him.

"He did say that our meeting would end the world as we know it," Stiles says and Erica throws her head back laughing.

"Maybe. We'll see," she adds with a wink and Stiles finds himself grinning too. 

He has a feeling they'll get along great.

"No, no, no," Derek is saying, still towing Stiles towards the exit. "Why is everyone in my life set on making it so hard?"

Stiles laughs and cannot resist. "I'll make your life hard, baby."

Derek flushes a deep red but he smiles nonetheless, shaking his head a little. "I did walk right into that one. Come on."

Scott and Allison are still at their earlier table, so Stiles waves at them with a smile. Scott raises his eyebrow at how Derek is guiding him by the hand and Allison grins. They'd heard all about his pining for the guy, though supported his decision of not engaging if Derek wasn't ready to come out. Closer to the door, Derek's steps falter and his grip gets harder which is weird… until Stiles sees he just ran into Pixie. She doesn't seem surprised one bit to see them together.

"Just friends, huh?" she tells Stiles. 

"Not anymore," Derek says, pulling him close.

"I swear I hadn't planned this," Stiles says, amused at the possessiveness. As if Pixie would be any threat now that he has a shot with Derek. "You're real cute, it's just bad timing."

She looks unbothered. "I get it. Best of luck to you, guys."

This time it's Stiles who takes the lead, ready to get to the fun part. He doesn't live far, so he usually walks to the club; out of habit he's heading home. Derek redirects him towards his car.

"My place, remember?" he says. 

"Anywhere is fine," Stiles answers.

"I never brought anyone to my place," Derek says. 

It must mean something for him, then. Stiles accepts it as the gesture it is. 

"Okay."

Stiles is about to buckle his seatbelt when Derek puts a hand on the side of his head, turning Stiles to face him.

"Hey," he says, eyes burning and then falling to his lips. 

When Derek pulls him into a kiss in the middle of the car, Stiles kisses him back with all of the pent up need he's been accumulating for weeks. It's hot and hard and so unbelievably good that Stiles is tempted to scramble over the gearbox and climb unto Derek's lap to have his way with him right now. The only thing that stops him is that he doesn't want their first time to be like those quickies Derek has known. It will be in his bed and nowhere else. With great reluctance, he breaks the kiss, only to whisper against Derek's lips.

"Come on, let's go. And make it fast or I'll start jerking off right here in the car."

"Jesus Christ," Derek swears. "You can't say things like that!"

It's working, though, because Derek hurries to buckle up and the car almost jumps forward as they leave the club's parking. The tires screech and everything, making Stiles laugh, delighted.

"Motivating enough?" he teases. 

Derek is definitely tenting his sweatpants now, and if Stiles didn't fear that he'd cause an accident, there would be groping. He doesn't jerk off, even of it's tempting with the way he's hard and straining against his jean's zipper. Instead Stiles slouches against the door, torso turned so he's practically facing Derek, legs wide open. It seems impossible for Derek not to look at him, turning his head every couple of seconds to eat him up with his eyes. Stiles has fun teasing him, trailing his fingers in the inseam of his jeans, going higher and higher towards his crotch with very pass.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me," Derek says. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, as if he's fighting the urge to touch Stiles himself.

"I'll do whatever you want," Stiles purrs. "Just ask and it's yours."

Derek opens and closes his mouth several times, reddening and suddenly looking uncomfortable. Just as Stiles is about to ask what is wrong, Derek offers an explanation.

"I haven't done much," Derek says. 

"Are there things you are uncomfortable with?" Stiles asks. 

He shakes his head. "No, not that. Just… as I said, quickies. Got blown, gave a couple of handjobs. That's about it."

"It's fine. Don't worry about that," Stiles says. 

In fact, he's aroused by this development. Stiles loves that he'll be the one to show Derek a thing or two, when he's ready for them. He's making plans in his head when Derek stops and puts the handbrake on his car. Stiles hadn't even realized they were close to his place already; Derek probably broke the speed limits coming here so fast. Not a second later Derek almost dives across the car, hands on Stiles’ thighs. He gives Stiles another scorching kiss, and right when Stiles thinks he's going to finally reach his dick -- Derek is that close -- he pulls back, smiles widely, and gets out of the car. 

Stiles sputters, hurries to unbuckle, and runs after Derek, who is already at his door.

"You tease!"

"Payback," Derek says, wiggling his eyebrows, and Stiles almost bowls him over when the door opens. He literally jumps on Derek, arms around his neck.

Derek catches him easily, letting Stiles wrap his legs around his waist and closes the door behind them with a kick. They start kissing again while Derek carries him down the corridor towards his room. Stiles is dropped on a bed, and a second later Derek is pinning him on it, hands on both sides of his head and looking at him intently.

"I love you," Derek says, making Stiles' insides swoop as if there's free falling. God, he's so gone. "I'm sorry it took me so long to do something about it."

Stiles reaches for Derek's beautiful face and cups his cheek. 

"It's okay, I like that we became friends first and that you waited until you were ready. And I love you too," Stiles admits, because why not? He is in love with the guy, and he said it first anyway.

Derek beams at him, but rapidly leans down for a deep kiss that make Stiles' toes curl. Fuck he's good at kissing: thorough but not too forceful, intent but still tender underneath it all. When Derek moves from Stiles’ mouth to kissing his neck, it's shiver-inducing, and Stiles arches into him.

"Tell me what you want," Stiles says, breathless. "Anything."

"I want to take my time," Derek says, kissing the other side of Stiles' neck, using tongue and teeth.

"Okay, okay," Stiles says, though he's a bit worried that he won't last long enough for Derek to take the time that he wants. "Can we at least lose the shirts?"

Instead of answering, Derek sits up on his knees and peels his old Saints t-shirt off. The view, as Stiles suspected, is _spectacular_. Derek's body is chiseled to perfection, with strong pecs covered with hair and washboard abs. (Stiles knew about the arms and shoulders - thanks to Derek's love of tank tops - but goddamn, they are a sight to savor too).

"Damn!" Stiles says appreciatively.

Derek blushes; it's downright adorable.

"Let me help you with this," he says, grabbing the edge of Stiles' shirt. 

It's one of his club shirts, tighter than Stiles usually wears, and there's a little bit of a struggle to take it off. They succeed and when he flops back on the bed, Stiles sees that Derek is eating him up with his eyes, as if _he_ got lucky. 

"So gorgeous," Derek says, caressing Stiles shoulders and torso, then leaning down to kiss here and there. The moles, Stiles realizes; Derek's mapping them. They are not the only thing to grab Derek's attention: he mouths at Stiles nipples which are extremely sensitive. Stiles can't repress the wanton moans at how great Derek is making him feel.

"This is so good," Stiles says. "I've dreamt about it, and you're way better than Dream Derek."

Derek laughs against his sternum. "Good. Wouldn't want to be upped by a fictional version of myself."

"True," Stiles says. "Did you dream about me?"

"All the time," Derek says, leaning up to kiss Stiles again, full of fire and want. "I've been jerking off so much lately, and it's always to you. How I wanted to touch you. Get touched. Everything. You drive me crazy."

"Same," Stiles says. 

Usually, in his fantasies, he ravishes Derek but it seems it's going to play the other way around (something he's a hundred percent for). Derek is now trailing kisses down Stiles’ torso, kissing his belly, sucking right next to his hip. He's not using just his mouth but his hands, too, that slide all over, feeling every ridge and caressing every part of Stiles. They still have their pants on – which in Stiles' case is very constricting – and eventually Derek scoots down a little more and stops, staring at Stiles' crotch. Stiles wonders if the hesitation is because Derek is uncomfortable going lower, so he gives him an out.

"We can work up to that," Stiles says. "No rush."

"Are you kidding me?" Derek says, looking up at him. He's got the raised eyebrows, everything. "I don't need to work up to that. I've been looking forward to it."

Derek tackles Stiles' jeans’ buttons and zipper like a man on a mission, and gets rid of the pants with a couple of hard tugs. The underwear and socks soon follow, and once Stiles is fully naked, Derek eats him up with his eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he says, caressing Stiles' thighs. It's obvious that Derek's eyes are straying to Stiles' cock, curved to his belly and leaking, even though he tries not to stare. He must not have seen aroused men fully naked outside of porn, unless that locker room action included showers. 

"I think that's my line," Stiles replies, as he pushes Derek's sweatpants down towards his thighs. "Come on, get naked with me."

It doesn't take long, and Stiles is soon covered by a beautiful naked shortstop, skin on skin in the most delicious way. They kiss like it's essential for life, and at this moment it pretty much is for Stiles. He's also hungry for more contact, more friction, more everything so Stiles arches up, moves his hips trying to get their dicks aligned. Instead of cooperating, Derek soon pulls away, but it's to kiss his way back down Stiles' torso again. It's unnerving how he doesn't miss one hot spot he discovered earlier, soon turning Stiles in a moaning mess. Even more, this time Derek doesn't stop to stare but nuzzles at the base of Stiles' dick, breathing in hotly.

"God, you smell so good," Derek says. 

Stiles is sure he could have found some witty repartee if Derek hadn't followed that statement with a lick up Stiles' shaft. 

"Oh fuck, yeah," he says instead.

If the first pass was obviously experimental, Derek seems to find some confidence because he grips Stiles cock in a loose hold and glides his hand for a couple of pointed pulls. 

"Tell me if I do something wrong," Derek says, and Stiles chokes on a laugh.

"All good, A-1, keep going," he says, which makes Derek chuckle.

After several kitten licks around the head – it makes Stiles hit the mattress with a fist; Derek looks amused – and even some exploring of his balls – they are often neglected, good on Derek – Stiles is close to begging. He understands that Derek needs to go slow, that he's exploring and it's a privilege for Stiles to be the lucky guy he's doing that with, but…

"I'm dying here, man," Stiles whines. "It's good, so good, but please!"

"Please what?" Derek asks with a sexy little smirk. 

"I want your mouth," Stiles says. "Please suck me, Derek. Just the tip if you want but please."

Derek actually laughs at that, but it's not mocking, just delighted. 

"Just the tip huh?" In a move that make Stiles' eyes roll up in his head in pleasure, Derek does just that, closing his lips around the head of Stiles' cock, wet and hot and sinful.

"Shit, fuck, oh my God!"

When Derek hums, pleased either by Stiles’ reaction or the act itself, Stiles almost loses it. Which is why it’s a tragedy when Derek pulls off.

"Don’t stop!"

"How about that for just the tip?"

"Hale, you’re a goddamn tease!" Stiles protests. "Come on!"

With Derek’s smile, and how happy he looks right now, it’s very hard to be truly annoyed. Anyway, all is forgiven when Derek starts to blow him again, taking more in his mouth each time he bobs his head, and moving his hand in a slow stroke.

"Oh, God, that’s great. So good," Stiles praises.

He’s itching to move his hips and seek more of that hot wet heat. Instead, Stiles is doing his best to stand still, afraid of pushing and going too far. If Derek was careful at first, he’s visibly getting bolder, experimenting with his tongue and even a hint of teeth. He’s attentive to Stiles’ minute reactions, which is why he doesn’t miss his aborted thrust at a tentative touch behind his balls.

"Fuck, yes, please," Stiles begs.

When a finger wet with saliva slides to his ass and circles his hole, Stiles moans at the sensation. Derek pulls off.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Hell yeah," Stiles replies. "It’s great! Of course blowjobs are great, they are the best, but it’s even better with fingers."

"Give me the lube," Derek demands, pointing to the bedside table.

Stiles’ dick twitches, showing his appreciation for that plan. He hurries to open the drawer, and next to the lube he sees a condom, so he grabs that too, gives both to Derek. If he’s not mistaken, Derek’s pupils get bigger, now swallowing almost all of the green of his irises.

"You want me to fuck you?" Derek asks, intent.

"Only if that’s okay with you," Stiles says. "But God, yes."

Derek surges up to kiss him, and when he stops ravaging Stiles’ mouth, because it was some claim and conquer kiss right there, he’s very clear that he’s on board.

"I want- I need to," he says. "Tell me how you like it. I want it to be good."

"Lots of lube, use four fingers even if I'm impatient." Stiles sometimes gets overeager in the heat of the moment. "Don’t worry, it’s going to be great."

"You, impatient?" Derek smiles. "I can’t believe that. But yes, okay. It’s… I’ve done this, with girls. I’m not completely clueless if that’s a consolation."

Stiles kisses his stupid mouth. "Good for you, but it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t mind what you’ve done or not. What I love is that we do it together."

"Okay, okay; me too," Derek says, kissing him a last time before scooting down the bed once more.

The dual assault of Derek's mouth on his cock and getting stretched is absolutely fantastic. Derek is not clueless at all when it comes to anal play. He goes slow enough for Stiles to take his finger easily, but also rapidly enough that the feeling goes up and up without stalling because of over-cautiousness. He's also found a balance with sucking and stroking that does wonders for Stiles' dick, and his need to come in general. In short, Stiles is in blowjob bliss, and he's reduced to swears and praise. His pleasure is climbing so much, Stiles has trouble keeping still, rocking between Derek's mouth and his hand because he doesn't know what he needs the most of. And then, somewhere between three and four fingers, Derek crooks them just right, and Stiles almost jackknifes up on the bed. Oh, he'd grazed his prostate before, being in the right area and all, but this is full on stimulation, and Stiles just can’t control the reaction. Fortunately, Derek is pulling off at the time so Stiles doesn’t choke him.

"Oh fuck, fuck, sorry," Stiles apologizes nonetheless.

Derek, undeterred, moves his left forearm so it's across Stiles' pelvis, elbow on one hip and fingers curled around the bones on the other sides, effectively pressing him down in the mattress. 

"S'okay," Derek says, and his voice is a little scratchy. The fucker is giving his first blowjob, and he's already taking Stiles deep enough for it to have an effect on his throat. "I guess I found it, huh?"

"Yep, the magic spot," Stiles says, panting. Derek might have stopped blowing, but he's still pumping his fingers in and out, slow and good.

"There?" Derek asks, rubbing exactly at where it stimulates Stiles’ prostate. 

He can't help it, Stiles arches into the touch, but he can't move much because of the way Derek is restraining him. Somehow, it makes the whole thing even hotter. 

"Yes, yes, right there," Stiles says. He's so keyed up, it's as if he's gone right over the point without actually coming. He's still hard, though, but he's actually wondering if he can take much more. "Easy, easy."

"Too much?" 

Stiles looks down his body, and Derek is almost frowning.

"Maybe?" Stiles doesn't want Derek to think he's doing something wrong here. If anything, he's doing things a bit too right. Being coherent at this point is difficult, but he makes an effort. "I want – I'd like to come while you're fucking me. So, you know, so you can feel it too? It's good, I swear. But if you keep up like this- I'm so close."

That _does_ take care of the displeased expression on Derek's face, and he nods.

"Got it, easy," Derek says. "We're almost there, you're doing so good, taking it so well. I've never seen something so hot," he adds, letting go of Stiles' hips to add some lube. 

Instead of going back to sucking Stiles' cock while opening him up, right now he seems fascinated by the sight of his fingers going in and out, scissoring and starting all over again. If he does graze Stiles' prostate again – on purpose, Stiles would bet on it - it's not in direct stimulation, which keeps the pleasure high without getting too much. And Stiles? He wants more. He's way ready by now.

"C'mon Derek," he pleads. "I'm good."

Stiles is moving into the motion, fucking himself harder on Derek's fingers. God, they feel so good but his cock will be so much better. Derek looks up at him and smiles. 

"No, not yet. I was duly warned," he says. 

"What?" Then he remembers. "No, no, no need for four, you've got big fingers. Three's fine."

Derek puts three fingers of his left hand together, cocks his head as if considering and winks at Stiles.

"Not enough yet," he says.

Stiles almost swallows his tongue. He briefly saw Derek's cock as he stripped, and felt it earlier against his hip, and his first impression was _nice_ and _damn_ , but he hasn't touched it yet. If his girth is bigger than the fingers in Stiles' ass, he'll have to graduate to _hot damn_.

"Then give it to me!" Stiles demands. 

With a delighted laugh, Derek looks down and slowly brings his pinky to the party. Stiles' whole skin feels as if it's vibrating, and the nudge against his rim makes him pant. It seems to be impossibly wide when Derek pushes it slowly inside with the others.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Stiles says, throwing his head back on the pillow. 

He's going to come; it’s too good. But at the very moment where Stiles thinks it's sadly inevitable, there's a hard pressure at the base of his dick, enough to hurt. It stalls the urge to come a little, which leaves Stiles floating. He pants, looking down to see that Derek has saved the day by clamping Stiles' shaft hard with his other hand. He looks unsure, scanning Stiles' face.

"Is that-"

"Great, it's fine, God, thank you. Great save, 10 points for the Cyclones," Stiles babbles and it makes Derek laugh again. Stiles knows he's not making any sense, but he's glad Derek finds it funny.

Derek is moving his fingers, the four of them, in and out slowly again and it's fantastic. Stiles is almost dead from being blue-balled like this, but it's fine. What a way to go.

"I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now," Derek says softly. 

It makes Stiles shiver, that much intensity. It should feel like too much, as if Derek is trying too hard or putting over the top expectations on him, on them, but it doesn't. It feels right, and it feels good.

"Then take me," Stiles replies.

As simple as that. He's ready for the taking, and not only physically. Somehow that meaning must translate on his face because Derek's expression gets softer. He takes his fingers out of Stiles – a loss, truly – and comes up to kiss him, deep and full of feeling. 

"I love you," Derek says when he pulls away. He's searching Stiles' face, making sure his intention goes through. "I want you, of course I do, but it's more than that. You need to know that."

"Okay, okay," Stiles soothes, caressing Derek's back. "It's more than that for me, too. You're a lot more than your looks, Hale," Stiles adds as a tease. 

"Not everyone thinks that," Derek says with a self-deprecating smirk that makes Stiles hates whomever made Derek feel that way. 

Derek starts kissing the side of Stiles' neck, and then, unexpectedly somehow, he grinds down. The friction on Stiles' newly neglected dick is so fantastic that he moans loudly.

"Oh God, yes."

And is it really happening? It seems so, as Derek pulls off and kneels on the bed, then rolls the condom on his dick. A XXL condom, in fact, Stiles can't believe he missed that earlier. Now that he can see it? Derek's cock is impressive indeed, and Stiles needs it in him _right now_. He makes grabby hands and Derek laughs again, busy on slicking his length. Stiles approves because lube is his best friend tonight, he's sure of it.

"How do you want- ?" Derek asks.

"Any way you want it," Stiles says. The possibilities themselves are an embarrassment of riches, and he'd be happy with any scenario. "Preference?"

"I want to see your face," Derek says, and… is he blushing? God, he's so cute under the almost-rough lumberjack exterior.

"Sure!" Stiles says, and then the perfect scenario comes to mind. He taps the bed beside him. "Come here, on your back. I'm going to ride you."

He doesn't need to ask twice, Derek’s obviously very eager at the idea. Stiles has a thought he could return the favor, explore Derek's body a bit before hopping on his dick, but it will be for another time. He straddles Derek's hips, reaches behind to grab Derek's dick – who shudders at the touch – and immediately gets on it. Literally. Even as well-stretched as he is, Stiles needs to go slow to keep everything smooth and fun. Gravity and being able to control the pace is great, too.

"Oh God." Derek sounds strangled, and he's gripping the bed sheets. "You feel so good."

"Same," Stiles says, taking more and more of Derek's cock with every move. It takes some time and dedication, but it's worth it when he's got him all in. "Fuck." It's an appreciative curse, for sure.

"I'm sorry," Derek says. It makes Stiles opens his eyes – when did he close them, anyway?

"What? Why?" Stiles asks, bewildered.

Derek is kneading Stiles' thighs, flushed a dark pink to mid-chest and so gorgeous he's breathtaking. He's also visibly tense, breathing in aborted little pants.

"I won't last, I'm sorry," Derek says.

And isn't that sweet? 

"What if I start moving?" Stiles asks, since he's actually ready for it, now that he's adjusted to Derek's girth. To demonstrate, he swirls his hips and moves up and down a couple of times. Derek's eyes roll back into his head as he bucks up, giving a hard thrust. Wow, that's good.

Derek makes a sound that is inarticulate and a whole lot of consonants. When he finds his voice again, hands on Stiles hips and following his ups and downs, it's to snark. "Not really helping matters."

"I don't know," Stiles says, starting a nice rhythm and delighted when Derek follows with a counterpoint roll of his hips in return. "This is pretty great."

"More than," Derek says. His eyes are half opened, but follow Stiles' every move as if fascinated. It's heady, being put into focus like that. "Fuck, Stiles, I'm so close."

Stiles is, too. In fact, he's been ready to come for long minutes now and he can feel his orgasm build fast. 

"Then give it to me, and I'll come with you," Stiles offers. 

Derek's fingers close hard on Stiles' hips, and then he readjusts, pulling him up a bit.

"Yes, yes, okay," Derek says. 

And, right after that, it's on. Not only is Derek extremely fit, he's also strong enough to hold Stiles in place as he starts snapping his hips up to fuck him fast and hard. Stiles might be the one on top right now, but he's reduced to just taking it and it's _fantastic_. For a guy who said he was just about to come, Derek's still has incredible control, his pace unrelenting. Stiles hovers on the brink for a half dozen thrusts and finally can't resist anymore; he takes a hold of his dick, jacking off fast and furious in counterpoint. Just before he comes, they lock eyes and it's Derek's look of complete awe and abandon to his own pleasure that does it, sending Stiles over the edge. Stiles shudders as his orgasm hits in waves, and the sight of painting Derek's perfect abs and chest with his come gives a little extra, too. 

Meanwhile, seeing Stiles come – or probably feeling it, or both – finally affects Derek's rhythm who fucks in hard four more times before stilling, head thrown back in the picture of pure ecstasy. He falls back to the bed after that, his hips still moving slightly, as it's just impossible to stop. Riding the aftershocks, that's always good. 

"That was spectacular," Stiles says a moment later. It makes Derek grin (and if Stiles is not mistaken, pink up a little more).

"Not so bad, for a first time," Derek says.

"You bet," Stiles says with a wink. "Can you imagine when I'll know exactly what makes you tick?"

"S'not hard," Derek says with a shrug, reaching for Stiles face and bringing him down for a kiss. It's filthy with an edge of sweet, a new thing Stiles is experiencing tonight. He loves it. "You make me tick," Derek adds.

That earns Derek another kiss. 

"Good," Stiles says. "Because you light me up like a pinball machine, jeez."

Derek laughs, and like this, in a post-coital high, cheeks still flushed, hair a mess, and mouth red from kisses and biting his lips earlier, he's without a doubt the most beautiful person Stiles has ever seen. And Derek is _his_.

"It's true and you know it," Stiles adds. "Let's rest and try that again."

When Derek tries to pull Stiles off, to take care of the condom, Stiles stops him. 

"Just a bit more, okay?" he asks. He can feel Derek's cock softening, but for the moment it's still a nice anchor between them. 

Derek nods and Stiles grabs the first piece of fabric he reaches – Derek's t-shirt, they didn't even unmake the bed – and mops most of the come on Derek's chest. That taken care of, he then carefully bends forward without dismounting, until he's resting on Derek's chest. Immediately Derek circles Stiles body with one arm, keeping him close, while he caresses Stiles' spine up and down with the other hand. It's soothing, and Stiles might have started drifting when the lines traced on his back become patterns. Or at least it doesn't feel random.

"Whassit?" Stiles slurs.

"Easy," Derek says, starting again. 

There's a square-ish thing at the base of his spine, pointing towards his head, then Derek's fingers come up along Stiles' ribs before arching between shoulder-blades, going back down on the other side to the start of the pattern. Derek does it again and when Stiles finally gets it – he's a little sex stupid, sue him – it's glaringly obvious.

"Baseball. It's a baseball diamond and field," he says.

"Yep," Derek replies.

Stiles wonders if Derek, now that the sex is done, is starting to think more clearly and regret his choices. Maybe he's considering how much harder getting a chance in the big leagues will be if he's out. Even if his arms are still noodle-like, Stiles pushes up to look at Derek's face. The move makes Derek's soft cock slip out completely, and somehow he misses the connection even though they are touching so much still.

"Never far from your mind, huh?"

"Yeah," Derek admits, but he hasn't seemed bothered until this point. He might catch Stiles' own worry, because he frowns. "Is that a problem?"

"No! No, of course not. You're the fairest shortstop in all the land," Stiles says with a wink. "You know I believe in you and support you. I just wondered-"

Voicing it now seems petty and childish, so Stiles bites his lip, sorry he brought it up. He's not shy about saying what he thinks, usually, and the hesitation is enough to clue Derek in.

"I'm sure this is what I want," Derek declares. "Even more now than before. Yes, baseball is important, of course. But being happy and honest with myself comes first. You come first."

"Good," Stiles says, smiling wide. Derek is so sweet and earnest, it's adorable. "I'm glad. Very much so. I would like to formally declare that keeping you happy is my primary objective from now on." 

Derek's answering grin is blinding. "Great. Same."

"Now let’s get cleaned up and cuddle. Ah, shit," Stiles says, mock pouting. "I forgot to ask if you were a cuddler. This might be a deal breaker."

With an affectionate eyeroll, Derek grabs Stiles' face and brings him down for a kiss. 

"I'm the best cuddler," he says against Stiles' lips afterwards. 

Stiles scoffs. "How do you know? Maybe I am the best. You can't win at everything."

Derek grins. "I am very, very competitive."

It makes Stiles laugh, too. "Then it's on. Race you to the shower!"

With a cackle, Stiles slips out of bed, leaving Derek to deal with the condom. Even with the lead he barely wins, and ends up being tackled in the shower. No one loses.

(And yes, even if Stiles will never in a hundred years admit it just for the principle of things, Derek turns out to be the best cuddler. No one loses there either).

 

***

Post-season celebrations are nice, especially when your team has won the College World Series. The Cyclones ball club is having a picnic-slash-party at the University Club, and the place is crowded. Stiles figures it's pretty much everyone from the organization, from the offices to the players, including the coaches. There are lots of family and friends, too, and it's a merry affair. 

Mid-July in California means that a party isn't one without a pool. Stiles has to admit that a concentration of jocks in one place might be annoying, but several are nice to look at. He's speaking aesthetically, of course. But no one comes close to the perfection that is his Derek. Drawn to him like a moth to a flame – it might be the bright red swimming suit – Stiles walks towards the group Derek is sitting with. There are a couple of rookies and Steve Barningham, the Mets' scout, plus the Fireflies' general manager and their head coach.

Stiles is still wrapping his head around the fact that Derek has played his last game for the Cyclones. He'll be in South Carolina next year, but he's avoided talking about it. Derek's riding a high since their win three days ago – the College World Series Most Outstanding Player on top of that was fantastic - and Stiles is determined not to harsh his buzz. He worked so hard, Derek deserves every second of joy and celebrations. Taken with a wave of pride and fondness, Stiles, who's now at the edge of the group, reflexively puts his hand on Derek's neck and squeezes, affectionate. 

He doesn't even realize he's being touchy feely until Mason, the rookie second-basemen, looks up at him, blinking. Everyone Stiles considers a friend knows that he's dating Derek, but they are still discreet about it. It's fine, Stiles doesn't feel like a secret at all, and frankly if someone sees them regularly and doesn't guess they are an item are either stupid or willfully ignorant. There's the banter, sure, the fond besotted looks, but they're almost glued to the hip, always in each other's bubble. Erica says they were like that even before they started their relationship, but she likes to exaggerate (she might be right).

A hand on the neck is pretty tame, and easily passed as a friendly gesture. Stiles would not even be worrying about if he hadn't done it in front of the Mets' organization, literally. Derek, who has grown more and more confident in opening up as being bisexual over the months, doesn't even tense under Stiles' touch. In fact, he looks up and smiles at Stiles, now at his side.

"Hey, there you are," he says. He looks so happy to see him. It's been 10 minutes, max, since Stiles left to go to the restroom.

Stiles smiles back, but remembers himself before he does something stupid like bend down and kiss Derek for being a dork.

"Water?" he asks, instead, offering one of the two bottles he brought back.

"Sure, thanks," Derek says. 

He takes it, but with his other arm Derek circles Stiles' waist and pulls him close, making him sit on his lap. Just like that, as he'd do on their couch at their apartment (well, it's technically still only Derek's apartment, but Stiles hasn't seen his dorm room in a month, now. He heard that Isaac basically moved in in his place, with Scott.).

Stiles won't lie, he's surprised and speechless as Derek casually opens his bottle and takes a swing of water. As if they do ‘couple’ things with Important Baseball People (TM) around all the time. Looking more closely at Derek, he's not as cool as he's letting on. In fact, he's got a little defiant glint in his eye as he resumes his conversation with his future employers. A test, then. Stiles starts smiling, so very proud of his beautifully brave boyfriend (and what an alliteration that is). 

Baker from the Fireflies doesn't miss a beat, nonplussed, so at first sight he passes with flying colors. Stiles just hopes there's not a second reaction, later, that screws Derek over. No, it's clear that the most destabilized people in their group, apart from Stiles himself at first, are Mason and his bestie Liam, the rookie relief pitcher. Liam, a little ball of fluff with anger issues when on the pitching mound, is darting looks from Derek to Stiles and then to Mason, while clutching his girlfriend Hayden on his own lap. He stops when he realizes Stiles caught him doing it, but his blue eyes are big and slightly stunned. Is he passing the test or not? It's hard to say.

Eventually the Mets' people move along, as they've been mingling all afternoon. As soon as they are gone, Derek relaxes a little more fully in his chair and Stiles makes a 'really?' face. 

"You could have warned a guy," Stiles says.

"Spur of the moment," Derek says, smirking. He looks proud of himself, though, and Stiles loves him for it.

"Dude!" Liam exclaims. 

Oh, right. Stiles half expects to find Liam scowling, but on the contrary he is smiling wide. Mason is grinning just as much and the two kids actually fist bump. Hayden rolls her eyes, but it's visibly with a lot of affection.

Derek watches with raised eyebrows, just as perplexed as Stiles.

"That was intense!" Mason exclaims. "Whoa. Smooth as fuck, Hale!"

"And what is it to you?" Derek asks, cocking his head. It's not confrontational, just challenging.

Mason darts looks around and leans forward.

"I'm gay. Like totally, one hundred percent, gay. And I thought… but then. Whoa," he repeats, gesturing at them and smiling wide at Derek again. "Awesome."

The little pleased smile that Derek makes? Is beautiful. It's Stiles' favorite. 

"Cool," he says. "But this one is mine, so don't get ideas," Derek adds, holding on a little tighter to Stiles. 

Which is ridiculous. Stiles is not interested in babies. He likes the sentiment, though.

"Oh yeah?" he asks Derek. "You want to keep me?"

"You bet I do," Derek says, in all seriousness. "You're the best oral I've ever gotten, after all."

Stiles isn't a shy person by nature, but the shock of Derek outright saying something like that in front of casual acquaintances makes him blush even as he starts laughing. He remembers finding it funny when Braeden said the same thing all of those months ago; when it's about him, it's slightly more embarrassing. Though flattering.

"What the hell has gotten into you today?" Stiles asks. 

Derek grins. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Hayden and the boys start laughing. Stiles, delighted with this playful Derek he's usually the only one to see, gives him a peck on the lips. He thinks that he's had a clear message that a little PDA is now acceptable, and Derek definitely welcomes it.

"Nah," Stiles says. "I think they got the idea anyway. Love you, big guy."

He's never said it with witnesses, and it's cute how Derek turns all bashful and pleased in return. He leans up for another quick kiss that Stiles is happy to provide.

It's without worry or care for who could hear that Derek answers. 

"Love you too." 

Frankly? It feels like a grand slam.

 

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to take a moment to thank my dear friend Haldoor for the beta job: you are the best <3
> 
> Also, this fic was inspired by a tumblr post, with several prompts, one being: "We write notes to each other on the desk we share at different times and I never knew who I was talking to until I saw you stay behind after class to write on it and holy shit YOU’RE HOT." I saw [here](http://stardust-sketcher.tumblr.com/post/118754184506/otp-au-ideas). It was too much fun to pass :)
> 
> And finally: once again I urge you to go see the art by dreammaidenn [here on LJ](http://dreammaidenn.livejournal.com/10442.html). So lovely, she was very generous =D
> 
> As always, new friends/asks on my tumblr [@gottalovev](http://gottalovev.tumblr.com/) are welcome!  
>   
> Thanks for reading :)


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